Chuck Versus The Plan: Expanded Version
by WvonB
Summary: Sometimes even the best-laid plans go awry. Will that happen to our favorite couple? Please read on in this newly expanded version to find out.
1. Prologue-The Pier

_A/N: Welcome to the improved (hopefully) and significantly expanded Chuck Versus The Plan. Chapters, of course. A prologue half as big as the original story. Five completely new chapters at the end and some serious rewrites of some of the chapters between the two._

 _Even though I use dates and time quite a bit in this story, I like to emphasize that this timeline is my own. I use events and references to fit my story, not always the way canon did._

 _I bounce back and forth time-wise. Hopefully the dates (all the same year) in the Chapters and the story line itself will help make it clear where we are in the narrative._

 _This takes place in a kinder, gentler world then some. Do not expect any overly graphic descriptions in any of the scenes._

 _As I have promised before, this story is finished, (Yeah!) and I will release a new chapter every 3-4 days. Some are fairly short, but I hope the promise of others to follow quickly will make that OK._

 _Thank all of you for reading and reviewing._

 _A BIG thanks to michaelfmx for his beta services and his thoughtful and kind suggestions._

 _PS I do have a totally new story in the works. Early next year, I hope._

 _Enjoy!_

 _Don't own Chuck et al. Do this just for fun. Names used aren't intended to reflect real people._

—

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Prologue:The Pier**

"Beckman was right, Casey. I should have known!"

"How were you supposed to know the guy had a complete plastic surgery redo? You saw the file photo. He didn't look anything at all like he used to. Stuff happens that you just can't foresee."

"I should have recognized something about him. His mannerisms. His voice. Maybe the shape of his ears." Her volume drops a little, but her blazing anger diminishes not a whit.

"I should've noticed his walk."

"Walker, the guy had obviously worked on that too. It was only when he panicked that Bartowski picked up on it. That's why we're a team, to help each other out. No one can catch everything. You've been in this business long enough to know that. I personally think Beckman was way out of line on this one."

"Maybe. Still, I should have known." She snaps out the words, still fuming.

It's obvious that Casey's attempted mollification has done little to curb Sarah's temper and her self-recriminations.

The mission was a failure, the first they'd experienced as a team. It had hit them all hard, but it was pretty easy to see who was hit the hardest. Chuck can hear the frustration in her words. Can see it in her body language, clenched fists. He now knows for a certainty that Sarah Walker hates to lose. He had inklings of this before, but this particular incident has aptly demonstrated the accuracy of his suspicions.

It's also quite apparent that when Sarah Walker loses she gets frustrated. And when she's frustrated, she gets angry. _Very angry_. And one thing Chuck has learned is that when she's angry, especially to this degree, one does well to tread lightly. So this morning he'd held back and said nothing. He'd done so not only because he wanted to avoid her wrath, (although that was a large part of it) but mostly because he felt his inexperienced opinions wouldn't carry any real weight anyway.

He knows his other partner well enough to understand that Casey certainly isn't happy about the situation either, although his anger is nowhere close to those levels of incandescence that Sarah is displaying at the moment.

Failure is not in either of their vocabularies. But in Sarah's, he is fairly certain, all the synonyms have been removed as well. Or, for that matter, any other word or phrase that comes even remotely close to meaning the same thing.

Certainly, none of them had expected the mission to end the way it had. A bust, maybe, but a failure, no.

…

It had seemed to be a simple operation, similar to a number they'd handled quite well before. At the briefing, they'd been alerted about a certain Radek Bonk, a Czech national. As the intel flashed up on the screen, Chuck had blurted out that the name would be a great one for a Bond villain. He'd been met with stony stares from Beckman and Casey but he was almost certain he'd seen a quickly concealed smile on Sarah's face before she'd turned away.

Bonk had suddenly appeared in L.A. two days ago, triggering a few low priority alarms. While there was very little information about him, an analyst in Langley had stumbled across some intel which had indicated it was _possible_ that he _might_ have _some_ sort of connection with Fulcrum. So an alert had been put out to watch for the man. When he'd shown up here, it was decided that the team would investigate and try to ascertain if the man had intel of any real value. To Chuck, it had all sounded so vague that he wondered if they were wasting their efforts on what was most likely a low-value target.

Nevertheless, they'd set up a scenario where Sarah would run into Bonk at his hotel bar, a place the man seemed to enjoy, given the number of times he'd been observed there. Thereafter she would see if she could charm him into revealing if he likely had any information they wanted. If so, they would extract Bonk and remove him to Castle where the serious interrogation would take place.

Casey would be behind the bar to watch over things. Chuck would blend in with the customers and see if he could flash on something about the man, as neither his face nor name had triggered anything. It appeared his identity had been created out of thin air sometime after Chuck had received the Intersect. They were all wired, so if Chuck came up with anything they'd all know quickly.

…

He's already sitting on his stool, waiting, when Bonk walks in. Unfortunately, a group of young partygoers comes in at the same moment, temporarily blocking his view of their quarry. Bonk quickly takes a small booth and now all Chuck can see is the head and shoulders of their target. The words bland and nondescript immediately come to mind. Someone you'd pass on the street and never notice. Nothing in the man's appearance brings on a flash and Chuck begins to think the whole thing is a waste of time.

A few minutes later, while still sneaking surreptitious glances the man's way, he senses that Sarah has arrived. Turning his head he sees her standing in the entrance, appearing a little indecisive as she looks around the crowded room.

As usual, the sight of her takes his breath away. Her hair is down in soft curls, his favorite style (although he likes them all). She's wearing a deep blue dress with a ruffled hem that falls to her knees, held by a single strap over her right shoulder. It isn't overly daring or flirtatious, but as always, she is absolutely gorgeous, the most beautiful woman in the room. A fact that doesn't go unnoticed by the men in the bar (and the women for that matter, judging by their envious looks.)

The only one who doesn't seem to notice her is their mark, totally absorbed as he is in his Scotch on the rocks.

The lack of available seating makes it reasonable to approach Bonk with a request to share his booth, which is exactly what she does. The man appears disconcerted, almost stunned by her presence. Chuck can easily empathize with that reaction, thinking back to the first time he'd laid eyes on her.

What he _does_ find puzzling is how Bonk continues to be unnerved by her company, even looking quite pale as their somewhat banal conversation goes on. It seems that the man may be afraid, although, of what, Chuck has no idea. Most, if not all men, would be happy, no, ecstatic, to be in Sarah's company, at least once the initial shock of her presence had passed. But not Bonk.

It's only a few minutes later that he hears the man nervously excuse himself to use the restroom. Apparently, Bonk really has to go, for he almost breaks into a run as he passes by Chuck. As he does so, his gait changes. It's a curious one, almost as if he's waddling.

Unexpectedly, Chuck flashes.

 _Petr "The Penguin" Klima. Former low-level agent in the Czech UZSI (Úřad pro Zahraniční Styky a Informace) Intelligence Service. Disappeared September 23, 2007, after allegedly absconding with two hundred million Korunas belonging to the Czech Government._

Chuck speaks quietly into the mic in his watch, "Guys, I've got a name. Petr Klima. Used to work for the Czech intelligence service. Looks like our guy might just be a simple thief. Stole a bunch of money from the Czech government."

"Chuck, a couple of years ago I ran an op on a UZSI agent named Petr Klima. This guy looks nothing like him. Are you sure?" He hears Sarah's puzzlement through his earwig.

"You're right. The photo didn't match. It was his weird walk that gave him away."

Sarah's sharp intake of breath catches his attention. "What do you mean?"

"They call him the 'Penguin' because he kinda walks like one. I bet it would be really amusing to see him run in a tux because—"

He's cut off by Sarah's command. "Casey, check the restroom! He made me! He's making a run for it!"

Chuck, who from his seat can see the restroom doors, whispers into his watch, "He hasn't come out. He should still be in there."

Casey, in the middle of taking a drink order, quickly excuses himself, muttering something about a spastic colon. He hands off the customer to the other bartender and heads towards the facilities.

Less than a minute later Casey's gruff voice informs them, "Walker, he's flown. Window to the alley broken open here. I'll check if he's in sight."

"Damn! Damnit to hell! Alright, Casey. We'll check his room. Chuck, come with me."

As he glances towards the booth, he can tell, even from behind, that the woman who spoke those words is absolutely furious. Sarah stands and, after opening her small clutch purse, throws a few bills on the table. She starts to walk towards the lobby. Chuck gives her a second or two, then follows.

He catches up to her as she walks towards the front desk.

"What are you going to do?"

She stiffly replies, "We need to get into his room. Quickly. There's a small chance he might come back to get his stuff. Barring that, there may be something that'll give us an idea where he'll go."

"Sarah, the locks on these doors are electronic. Did you bring a gizmo for that?"

Frowning, she says, "No. Didn't think we'd need it. I'll have to do this the old fashioned way. Wait here."

Chuck stops where he is as she covers the last thirty feet on her own. As she approaches the solitary, mousy looking man behind the desk, he notices that Sarah subtly changes her walk. He can't be sure exactly what she does but somehow it suddenly becomes utterly captivating and he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from her. The desk clerk appears to be having the same problem, for when he looks up from his computer and sees her approaching, his stare never wavers.

Chuck's earwig allows him to clearly hear the conversation which Sarah starts, using a mild accent. He can't exactly place it, but thinks it might be middle European.

"My miláček, my darling Radek, just went to use the restroom and accidentally took both of our room keycards with him. Today is his birthday and I'm planning to give him a special gift. I need to go ahead of him because what I bought is a little complicated to put on. If I wait for him to come out, I will not have time to get ready and my surprise will be ruined.

"Is it possible for you to give me a copy of the keycard so I can go up and prepare? The room is under the name Radek Bonk, number 924." Here she pauses for a moment, and judging by the dazed look on the clerks face, Chuck thinks she's just given him one of her glorious megawatt smiles.

The clerk sounds unsure at her request. "Well, I can't really do th—"

Sarah cuts him off as she places her hand over his on the counter, then leans in and says in a pleading tone, "Please. I would not normally ask, but I find that I always have some problems with the little straps, you know, the ones that hold up the stockings. The length of my legs makes it a little difficult, so I need a few minutes." She sounds almost apologetic about this, that it is somehow her fault that her legs are so long.

Chuck can see the clerk visibly gulp at the mental picture that she's just given him. He can't be sure but it appears the man may have just broken out into a sweat as well. He stammers, "I...I don't know...I guess it would be OK. Just this once."

"Thank you, so much. You too are a miláček, a darling. If you happen to see my Radek heading to our room, please text me so I can make sure I am ready for him." She quickly writes down a number on a notepad. "But only after he has left the area. You mustn't tell him you spoke with me. He gets very jealous when I speak with good looking men like yourself."

A few seconds later, the man gives her the key card, still looking bewildered at what has just happened. As she walks towards Chuck, he sees her smiling as she turns to wave, looking back towards the desk. The man, seemingly rooted to the spot, manages a small return wave before using his fingers to loosen his apparently tight collar.

She walks past him, heading for the elevators. He waits for a few seconds before following, making sure the desk clerk doesn't think they're together. As they wait for the car, he can see she's back in agent mode, quiet, her concern over the state of the mission obvious, her anger under rigid control.

He can tell she's blaming herself for what's occurred. Even though he doesn't know exactly what has happened here, he does know her well enough to understand how overwhelmingly competent she is, how unlikely it is that this is her fault. How many times has he witnessed her accomplishments and never had the courage to let her know just how awesome she really is? But not today. She deserves to be reminded.

When the doors open, they find they have the elevator to themselves, so he's able to speak freely. And even though he knows his timing isn't always the best, that they're in the middle of what could turn out to be a real mess, he won't let that stop him.

"You know, you're quite amazing."

His statement seems to snap her out of her distracted state. She looks at him a bit quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"How you handled the desk clerk back there. Poor guy didn't stand a chance. It's incredible how you can become this whole other person just like that." He snaps his fingers.

"Well, I'm well trained."

"I'm sure you are. But it's not only that. It's you. You're just this…force of nature."

He thinks he sees a faint blush, but it's hard to tell with the elevator's subdued lighting.

"When you put your mind to it, I don't think there's a straight man who would be able to resist you." That he includes himself in that group is left unsaid.

Nonetheless, it appears she picks up on that. After a few quiet seconds, she looks to his eyes and softly says, "I hope you know, Chuck, that I've never played you. Not since our first date, anyways."

Chuck is surprised by her sudden openness. In truth, he had, at first, wondered about that, concerned that their friendship was actually just a sham, just part of her duties. But in the last few months, he's come to appreciate how close they truly are. It's a long ways from all he hopes for, but he's not going to let that stop him from enjoying what they do have.

"Don't worry. I know that. But thank you for telling me."

She looks a little uncomfortable, perhaps fearing she's said too much. Not wanting to embarrass her any further, he changes gears. "So, you were saying you ran an op on this guy. Is it alright to ask what that was about?"

She hesitates for a moment, but then apparently deciding there's no harm in telling him, replies, "A few years ago we hoped to cultivate an informant inside the UZSI. Our investigative team believed that Bonk, rather Klima, would be a prime candidate. I played up to him at a coffee shop and let him invite me to dinner. About half an hour into the meal, I realized he was useless to us. He was just a poseur with delusions of his own importance. His access to information was no better than we could get off the internet. I was really, _really_ annoyed with our analysts for even thinking he was worth cultivating. Just a huge waste of time."

"What do you think his problem was tonight? He can't be certain you're an agent, so he couldn't be sure you're after him. Right?"

"No, he doesn't know for sure, but he's probably suspicious. And a little paranoid. Running into me again halfway around the world has probably set off his alarm bells. It seems he remembers me from that dinner."

Chuck thinks how unlikely it is that any man could forget Sarah Walker, but asks anyway. "Why do you think that?"

She answers, "I probably traumatized him. Apparently, Klima thought that paying for a meal entitled him to certain privileges, so he started to get a little handsy at the table. Well, actually a lot more than a little. Once I'd determined he was of no use, I wasn't about to put up with that. So I dealt with him."

At this moment, the elevator stops at their floor and the door opens. The hallway is deserted, so Chuck feels there's no harm in continuing their quiet conversation as they step out and walk toward Bonk's room.

"What did you do?" he asks, looking her way.

This time, Chuck can definitely tell she's blushing. She avoids his gaze and doesn't speak for a few seconds. When she does, her voice is low, to the point he has a little trouble hearing her.

"I may have sort of threatened to emasculate him."

"What do you mean? Were you going to belittle him in front of the other patrons to take away his manhood?"

She looks at him, smirks a little. "No. Literally. With a steak knife."

"Yikes!" Chuck does wince but is able, just barely, to stop the instinctive physical reaction. He clears his throat before going on, "I can see now why the man didn't want to spend any more time with you. Probably thought you were going to recognize him somehow and carry through with your threat."

"It does appear he took me seriously."

"Trust me, Sarah. I've seen you in action often enough to know that I would take any threat _very_ seriously."

She shrugs her shoulders. "At dinner, he did the same thing he did just now. Went to the restroom and by the time we thought to check, he'd flown."

He smirks. "Which is kind of ironic, considering that penguins are flightless birds."

This earns him a groan from Sarah. "Really, Chuck? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Well, Bonk is kinda uninspiring."

"I couldn't agree more."

As they reach room 924, Sarah stops him, her hand held palm outwards. "Wait here. Don't think there's any chance that he's in there, but I need to check."

A gun appears in her hand as if by magic, leaving Chuck wondering, not for the first time, where she manages to hide the weapons that seem to so mysteriously appear just when needed.

She knocks on the door and, in a convincing Latino accent, says, "Housekeeping. I've come to turn down your bed." There's no response from within, so after a few more seconds elapse, she slides the key card through the lock, pushes open the door and quickly enters the room, pistol held high. He catches the door before it fully closes.

It's only a couple of moments later that he hears her voice giving the all clear. He goes into the room, letting the door shut behind him. She's already going through the suitcase on the stand near the bed. He doesn't say anything, not wanting to interrupt her concentration.

A few minutes later, visibly frustrated, she moves to the dresser and checks the drawers, slamming them shut as she finishes. Then she moves to the bathroom. He hears the medicine cabinet door slam shut as well, just before she rejoins him.

"Nothing at all. Not a single clue to where he might be going. There's not a passport or any other documents that might be of use. Room safe's open, so he probably kept them on him. Might be a hidden compartment in the suitcase but I doubt it. We'll have the lab guys check everything out anyway."

He nods his head, agreeing, staying quiet so she can vent.

She's almost growling as she goes on, "And you know what the stupid thing is about all this? My gut tells me this guy has no Fulcrum connections, none at all. But now we can't chance it. We'll have to tear this room apart and spend resources to try and find him. All for nothing. Another complete waste of time!"

She stops for a moment, so Chuck decides it's safe to speak up, "Maybe Casey caught up with him?"

"No. He would have told us if he had."

Trying to be helpful, he offers a possibility. "Perhaps he's out of range for the earwigs?"

She brightens a little. "Maybe. Let's hope he did better than we did."

Just then, they both hear the man in question come online. "Walker, I'm back at the hotel. Anything on your end?"

He sees Sarah's shoulders slump. "No, Casey. Same for you?"

"Roger that. By the time I got to the street, he was nowhere in sight. A couple of taxis and buses were exiting the area and he could have been in any one of them. I checked around just in case, but didn't get a sniff."

"OK, Casey. It's safe to assume he won't be back. Put out the alert for Bonk and arrange for a cleaning crew to come to the room to pick up his stuff. Maybe there's something here that'll help. Chuck and I will wait here until they arrive."

"Roger that."

"I won't call Beckman tonight. It's already well past midnight in D.C. Let's meet tomorrow at Castle. 0800. I'll call her then and we'll see what she has to say."

Even through the earwig, Chuck can hear the slight apprehension in Casey's voice as he agrees.

Seeing Sarah running her hands through her hair in exasperation, he's quite certain that neither of them is looking forward to their meeting with Beckman tomorrow. For that matter, neither is he.

…

The next morning, Chuck arrives at Castle at 7:30. He'd slept only fitfully after Sarah had dropped him off the previous evening, so felt he might as well show up early, perhaps be the first to arrive rather than his usual last in. But as he descends the stairs, he realizes he's not alone. He can hear an irregular pounding coming from the gym, so heads there to see what's going on.

Walking by Sarah's workstation, it's easy to tell that she probably got even less sleep than he did. The desktop is covered in files, ones, if he had to guess, she'd hoped would help them track down Bonk.

As he approaches the gym, the pounding sound he heard earlier becomes more rapid, louder, as if it's reaching some sort of crescendo. Opening the door he sees Sarah, dressed in exercise gear, landing a rapid series of hard jabs to the heavy bag. Then she stops and grabbing the bag to stop it from swinging, leans her head against it. Obviously, she's just finished pummelling the poor thing into submission.

He doesn't say anything right away, instead thinking, quite inappropriately, how breathtakingly attractive she is right now. He pushes those thoughts aside and is about to make himself known when, without turning, she says, "Hi, Chuck."

As he steps into the gym, he wonders, certainly not for the first time, how she does that. This time, he decides to ask, "How did you know it was me?"

She turns to face him, requiring him to push away the inappropriate thoughts once more. After pulling off her gloves and brushing away some of the hair escaping from her messy ponytail, she replies, her voice flat and hard, "Heard the door open. Knew it could only be you or Casey. Casey would've said something, not just looked at me. You do know it's a little rude to stare?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not certain that's good enough, Chuck. You could have told me you were there. Better yet, you could've knocked before opening the door."

"I'm sorr—"

Cutting him off again, she continues, "What if I'd been wearing the exercise outfit I prefer when I'm alone? Or at least, when I think I am. It's quite minimal, but it gives me the freedom of movement I need for some of my exercises."

He gulps. "You mean less than you have on now?"

She's firm. "Yes. How would you have felt then?"

Part of him, he knows, would've have been jumping for joy, but he also knows how embarrassed he would've been if he'd intruded on her in such a state.

Looking at the floor, he quietly says, "You know, I really am sorry, Sarah. I'll try to be more respectful next time. I really will."

Her gentle laughter catches him by surprise. He jerks his head up to see her grinning at him.

 _What the hell?_

"Chuck, do you actually think that I could possibly have an outfit any smaller than what I'm wearing right now? Might as well wear nothing at all if that was the case."

 _That_ image he pushes out of his mind _very_ quickly.

He shakes his head, wondering why she's kidding around with him. Not that he minds, of course. It's not side of her he's seen very often but he likes it. A lot.

"You really had me going there."

She's still grinning. "Yep, I did."

He grins back. "You know, I truly am sorry about the staring thing."

"It's OK. I imagine I'm quite a sight, all sweaty and gross."

"Yes, you do look kinda hot." _Curse that mouth of his!_ He just manages to avoid clapping his hand over it. _Couldn't he have said something other than that? Like maybe "I can see you've been working out?" Nope, almost as bad._

"What I meant was that exercise will do that to you. Of course, how would I know? Mr. Couch Potato here." He stops himself again.

"What I really meant to say is that you look alright. You're not too gross."

There's a look of mild amusement as she waits for him to wind down.

"I'll stop talking now if that's alright with you."

She smiles, nodding her agreement. "I think that might be a good idea."

Just then, there's a chime from her watch. Looking at it, her expression changes. There's no amusement in her voice as she says, "Beckman is expecting us at 0800. I'll grab a shower, change and meet you in the briefing room."

"Sarah, I hope she'll be understanding about what happened last night." It's as close as he'll venture to say it wasn't the team's fault, and especially not _her_ fault.

"Would be nice, but somehow I doubt it."

And, as usual, Sarah was right.

…

"…I personally think Beckman was out of line on this one."

"Maybe. Still, I should have known." She snaps out the words, still fuming. Abruptly she rises from her chair. "I'm going to check Klima's files again, see if I can somehow get a handle on him. Maybe figure out what he'll do now that he's on the run." Without another word, she leaves the briefing room and heads over to the workstation area.

Chuck's eyes follow her as she walks away. When she's safely out of earshot, he blurts out, "Wow! I'm not sure I've seen her quite this intense before."

Instead of the expected grunt or a terse "Deal with it, moron" (or some such), there's only silence from his partner. Chuck turns and sees Casey contemplatively looking in the direction she'd gone.

"I heard through the grapevine about a mission she led in Panama a few years ago. They were after some low-life arms dealer. It blew up in their faces and the guy went to ground. Wasn't her fault, but she wouldn't let it go then either." It appears that the big man is in, what is at least for him, an expansive mood.

Chuck just nods, afraid his words might break into Casey's train of thought. And he really wants to hear this story.

"She hardly slept, barely ate for three days. She was relentless. Drove the Chief of Station crazy. Requested all sorts of files from the records at Langley. In the end, she somehow managed to connect some scattered bits of intel. Saw a pattern no one else recognized. Went solo for twelve hours and tracked the guy down. Dragged him into Station, kicking and screaming. Literally. He apparently said he'd rather be sent away for life then spend another second near 'la perra rubia loca'."

Chuck furrows his brow as he tries to recall his high school Spanish. _Loca, loco is pretty easy. Rubia, he thinks means light-haired, blonde. Perra? What was perra? Female dog? That's it! Why would he call her-_

Then it clicks and he blushes a little. He can only imagine what she must have done to earn such an epithet.

"In any case, the whole incident eventually leaked out and Walker became the local version of the bogeyman, as in, if you do something wrong 'la perra rubia loca' will get you. Apparently, that had a noticeable effect on the crime rate for quite a while."

Chuck is completely unsurprised by that. What _does_ surprise him is Casey being so open about stuff he would normally never discuss.

"Why are you telling me this, Casey?"

"Because, while that guy in Panama probably deserved her efforts, Bonk, Klima, whatever we're calling him, certainly does not. He's just a scummy little thief who isn't worth her time or energy. She needs to put it behind her. Move on. But she won't listen to me right now."

"I noticed. What do you think we should do?"

"Not us. You."

"Me?! What can I do?"

"She listens to you, considers your view on things."

He's astonished by Casey's words. "Why would you ever think that? She's never given me any indication she feels that way. Wait. Did she say something?"

"No. In case you haven't noticed, Walker's not the most talkative person."

Chuck, while thinking this is an excellent example of the pot and kettle thing, doesn't comment, just replies, "Trust me. I've noticed. So, assuming you're right, what have I missed?"

"Well, if you weren't so busy making goo-goo eyes at her all the time, you might have noticed how often she goes along with your moronic ideas. How many times she's defended your idiotic actions to Beckman. That she's willing to do things with minimal physical violence, if possible, just so she won't hurt your pantywaist feelings."

 _There's_ the Casey he's used to. Three sentences. Three insults. Four if he counts the goo-goo eyes. Those thoughts, however, are quickly pushed aside when he realizes just what Casey is saying.

Sarah Walker actually believes he and his ideas are of value to the team? It's a novel concept, one he's never truly considered before, especially when he remembers how many times she's chewed him out over one thing or another.

That thought impels him to further disagree. "I'm not sure you're right on this Casey. It seems to me that there are lots of times she rags on me for the stuff I do, like leaving the car to help you guys."

Casey gives him a strange look, almost, it seems to Chuck, like one of pity. "I see you still haven't figured that one out, Bartowski. One day you will, unless, of course, you're more of a moron than I think you are. Though, I doubt that's possible." He almost growls the last few words.

Chuck is puzzled by the man's response, but upon hearing the growing irritation in Casey's voice, decides to drop it for now.

"OK, Casey. What do you think I should do?"

"Well, you'll need to figure that one out. Whatever it is, it'll have to be a hell of a lot more than you did in the briefing room. Why didn't you back me up, try to help her understand it wasn't her fault?"

Chuck, surprised by his sudden vehemence, stumbles a bit over his next words. "I-I thought she wouldn't listen to me. I don't have any real experience, nothing like you two guys. She was really angry and would've just shot me down."

"And what's wrong with that? If you want to reach a woman like Walker, you can't be afraid to step up to the plate. Sure, you'll get knocked down a few times by the high hard ones, but you'll gain her respect if you pick yourself up, brush off the dirt and take up your stance again."

Mouth agape, Chuck just stares at the big man. A baseball metaphor about what, exactly? How to get closer to the volatile and puzzling Sarah Walker? How to become more than just a friend? He reins himself in. He's fairly certain he's misreading the meaning behind Casey's words, that all the man is referring to is the situation at hand.

He wills himself to concentrate on the reality, not some unrealistic daydream, so he mulls things over for a few seconds. "So, Casey, I need to make her listen to me, help her to see it's not her fault. Maybe getting her out of Castle would be a good idea. Get her mind on something else, maybe. Yeah, that sounds good." He says these last words to himself, concentrating on his plans and almost forgetting the man sitting across from him. So he's a little surprised by Casey's next words.

"Does sound good. But none of that macho crap, like you're telling her what to do. Persuade her. She'll respond better that way."

He's again surprised by Casey, being all sensitive and such. For a moment, he's tempted to tease him but decides against it. If he does, it's unlikely the man will ever be so open again. And even though it's been a disconcerting experience in many ways, it's also been fascinating. Besides, he doesn't feel like getting shot right now.

Standing, he says, "OK, Casey, I'm off to beard the lioness in her den. Tell mother I died game."

"Don't know your mother, moron."

Chuck says nothing, just smiles as he walks away. A smile, however, that quickly dies when the thought that facing an actual lioness might be less dangerous than what he's about to do.

…

Sarah, though deeply absorbed in the files (both physical and electronic) before her, is nonetheless well aware that she's being approached from behind. It's easy to tell by the pattern of his steps that it's Chuck.

She's quite certain the two of them have been talking about her, about her reaction to this whole mess.

Beckman had, in fact, been less harsh than she had anticipated. The General, although pointing out more than once that Sarah should have recognized the man, had, in the end, grudgingly accepted that losing Bonk would likely have no lasting repercussions. Beckman had then decided that the mission was to be considered as a write-off, something to be put behind them.

But not for Sarah. No, it's personal now.

Sarah Walker simply hates to lose. She honestly doesn't care if the mission was one of major or minor consequence, whether it's officially over or not. She's going to make the time to track this man down.

Sarah knows she's always been goal driven. Recognize the objective. Make the plan. Execute the plan, trusting in her own intelligence and abilities to carry her through.

She's also well aware of the reputation she's earned; that if you're partnered with her and you screwed up or got in her way or slowed her down, you'd better ask God for mercy because you certainly weren't going to get it from Agent Walker

She's always hated even the thought of any sort of setback being attached to her record, her reputation as one of the CIA's best. So she'd gone to extraordinary (many would say well beyond needed) measures to clear herself, to remove even the slightest whiff of any failure connected to Sarah Walker.

The footsteps from behind her stop.

"Sarah?"

She doesn't turn, just replies, "Yes, Chuck?"

"I'd like to apologize to you."

She's caught by surprise. There's no need for him to apologize. He'd carried out his part of the mission perfectly well last night. Much better than her, in fact.

She swivels her chair around the face him, and in a puzzled tone of voice asks him, "For what?"

"Last night, I may have given you the impression that I only thought you were amazing for how you handled the desk clerk. The truth is that you're the most incredible person I know. Period.

"But, Sarah, no one's perfect. So I would like to apologize for not standing up for you after the briefing. I let you down."

"What do you mean?"

He takes a deep breath. "I should have said that what happened last night wasn't your fault. No one, not even you, could have realistically anticipated the kind of situation you found yourself in."

Sarah detects something in his body language, hears it in his tone of voice. _Defiance? No, that's too strong a word. Determination. That's it. He's determined to say his piece._

"You were wrong to think you could have done so." He pauses and takes another breath. "You're overreacting and being much too hard on yourself. Beating yourself up over this is a waste of your time and energy. You need to let it go."

He's never been this direct, this firm with her. To her surprise, Sarah finds she kinda likes it.

She looks at him closely, can clearly see that he's apprehensive as he waits for her reply. But she can also see the courage in his bearing. The willingness to bear the brunt of her wrath, if needed, to get his point across.

It's clear he cares for her, genuinely wants her to stop punishing herself for what she perceives as her failings. And in the face of this sincerity, this boldness, her recent stubbornness abruptly fades.

She's always been willing to acknowledge the team's successes happened because they are just that, a team. Then why is she so determined to put on all the blame on herself for this failure?

Was it really reasonable to expect that she should have recognized the man? Maybe not.

Is capturing Bonk really all that important? Probably not.

Is it realistic to think she can be flawless? No.

And then it hits her.

Something has happened to her since she arrived in Burbank, something she hasn't fully understood until this very moment. The satisfaction she gains from being around genuine people who genuinely care for her, the sense of camaraderie amongst the team, the feeling of belonging somewhere, all of these have somehow insinuated themselves into her life.

She's not sure how or when it happened. But it has, and it's changed her.

She's not the same Sarah who walked into the Buy More that day. That Sarah Walker would never have even entertained any of those questions she'd asked herself a few moments ago, let alone answered them in the negative. That Sarah Walker would've slapped down any asset who'd dared to speak to her like Chuck had just done.

And because she's no longer that Sarah, she can admit to herself that Chuck is right. Casey, too, for that matter. She did overreact. She did take on too much of the blame, as she has always done when a mission went south.

He's still standing there, waiting for her to reply. _Probably seems like an eternity to him._

 _Well, if he was expecting her to be angry with him, he's about to be surprised._

"You're right, Chuck. I do need to let this go. Thank you for helping me see that."

He appears to be taken aback, but it's only for a moment, for he grins and says, "You're welcome. We're friends and that's what friends do, help each other through the rough patches. You've done it often enough for me, so it was about time I returned the favor.

"And as a friend, I suggest that we get out of this place for a while. It's a beautiful day in sunny LA and we're both off. I think we deserve a break. Take our minds off the whole cloak and dagger stuff for a while. I've been told that spending time with me can be quite enjoyable. So whaddya say, Miss Walker, ready to have a day of fun in the sun with Chuck Bartowski?"

What she _should_ say is no. Inform him that it's in excess of what is needed to sustain their cover. Tell him there are more important things for her to do.

And even a few weeks ago she would've done just that.

But not today. She feels…reckless. When _was_ the last time she had some actual fun? Besides, how can she say no to those adorable ( _where did that word come from?_ ) pleading puppy dog eyes.

Quickly swiveling her chair, she turns back to the computer. She logs out and closes the files on her desk.

She stands and, turning to face him, says, "OK, Mr. Bartowski. What do you have in mind?"

Sarah's quite certain that if they weren't buried in the depths of Castle, his surprised grin would've been visible from outer space.

For that matter, so would hers.

…

Closing the Porsche's door, she turns to him and says, her voice betraying her disappointment, "The pier, Chuck? This is your idea for a day of fun?"

Even as she says the words, Sarah realizes how unkind they sound. He briefly winces, but, in keeping with his new-found boldness, doesn't let her disapproval get him down.

Instead, he grins. "Hey, don't knock it until you try it. I've come here many a time in a rotten mood and left feeling much better. I'm pretty sure we'll find something that'll make _you_ feel better as well."

Folding her arms in front of her, she asks, disbelievingly, "Such as?"

"Come with me and I'll show you."

It's on the tip of her tongue to say no, to tell him to drop the whole idea and return to Castle. But then she imagines how even this courageous version of Chuck would try so hard, unsuccessfully, to disguise his hurt feelings and tell her it's OK that she changed her mind.

 _Well, I did say yes. And really, how bad could it be?_

She finds out when he leads her to the entrance of one of the businesses.

"Chuck, I'm not going in there. I'm really not in the mood to have a bunch of teenage boys staring at me."

"Sarah, it's early and it's a school day, so I think you'll be spared most of that." He grins. "However, you do have this tendency to attract attention no matter where you go, so I can't guarantee there won't be any inappropriate staring going on."

"From you or the other guys in there?" She asks, smirking at him.

He holds his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Sarah. We've spent so much time together that I'm well past the staring stage. Nowadays, I hardly even notice that you're around."

"Sure. Like you didn't notice me walking towards the front desk last night."

He's a little puzzled. "How?"

"Mirrors on the columns in the lobby."

"Well, Miss Walker, I'll have you know that it wasn't what it appeared to be. I was simply keeping an eye on you for safety's sake. Just making sure I had your back. You know, like any good partner would."

She snorts. "And this morning? What partner duties were you carrying out then?"

"Thought I might learn something from your excellent technique."

"Chuck, I'd pretty much finished by the time you opened the door.

"Sarah, Sarah. It's not the quantity that counts, it's the quality."

She can't help but smile at him. "Well, Mr. Bartowski, you seem to have an answer for everything. I guess that earns you the opportunity to try and distract me."

He smiles back at her.

"But," his face falls a bit, "I'm not playing any games that involve aliens, robots, fairytale princesses or magic spells. Am I clear on that?"

His smile comes back full force. "Not a problem. There are games that will be a little more up your alley, so to speak."

…

Holding the plastic weapon in her hands, she skeptically says, "Chuck, this isn't anything like a real AK-47. It's much too light for one thing. And you won't be fighting any recoil that affects your aim. Not very realistic at all."

He grins. "Just give it a shot, Sarah." She bites off a groan at his bad pun.

"On the screen there's going to be a steady stream of ducks to shoot down, coming from all directions, so you have to watch for the unexpected ones."

"Will I have to reload?"

"No. You'll have an infinite number of rounds."

She huffs. "Like I said, not very realistic. Besides, no one uses an assault rifle to shoot ducks."

"It's not a simulator. It's just for fun. The game will keep track of our scores. Sarah, I know you haven't played many video games, so I'll take it easy on you to begin. Then we'll see how it goes. OK?"

She grumbles, "OK."

…

Sliding the faux-rifle back into its cradle, she says, grinning, "You're right, Chuck. That _was_ a lot of fun."

"Yeah, sure."

At his somewhat unenthusiastic reply, she turns to him. "What? Did I do something wrong?"

"Do you realize that you had a 99.5% hit rate on that last round?"

She replies with just a tiny bit of sarcasm. "Thanks for drawing that to my attention, Chuck. I was already annoyed enough for missing that one."

He gapes at her, realizing how his words had been interpreted. "No. No. Sarah, I wasn't being critical. That score was fantastic. No one has ever done it before, at least on this particular console. Look at the leader scoreboard."

Sarah looks at the list and sees the initials SW at the top of it, right beside the 99.5%. Just below her score she notices the initials CIB at 93.5%. It suddenly dawns on her.

"CIB. Is that you, Chuck?"

"Yeah. Had to invest a lot of hours to reach that score and you beat it in," he looks at his watch, "about thirty-seven minutes. And you did it on single shot, not full auto mode."

"It was getting a little too easy using multiple rounds." Seeing his crestfallen expression, she hastily adds, "That's only because I'm a quick study and you're a good teacher. Thanks for taking it easy on me." She gives his arm a little squeeze.

That seems to perk him up a little, and he chuckles. "Yeah, we'll pretend that's what happened. OK, Miss-I'm-no-good-at-video-games, you choose the next game.

Sarah looks around, somewhat overwhelmed by the cacophony of the different game sounds and all the blinking, flashing lights. Then something catches her eye in the far corner.

She points. "There. That one."

He follows her gesture. Shaking his head again, all he says is, "Figures."

…

Their cars temporarily stopped, he watches intently as she demonstrates. "Chuck, you need to turn the wheel like this," she shows him, "and use the handbrake if you want to drift through the corner. That way you're perfectly set up for the straightaway."

Chuck turns back to his screen and accelerates towards the next corner, then mimics her actions. "Like this?"

"Good, Chuck! That was much better. You're getting the hang of it now."

A minute or so later, he crosses the finish line. Turning to her with a big grin, he says, "That _was_ much better. I only finished one lap behind you this time."

She looks at him and smiles. He seems perfectly happy with that, uncaring that he lost again. Both games had followed the same pattern. He would win until she caught on and then rapidly surpass him. Obviously, her real world skills had helped her out. If the games had been on other themes, she knows she wouldn't have done nearly so well. Chuck must have known that too, consenting as he did to play the ones where he knew she would already have some of the requisite skills. She's sure he did so just to make her feel better.

"You want to go one more time?"

"Sounds great! But I'm warning you that you'll be pushed a bit more this time."

"Bring it on, buster."

A little while later, Sarah again crosses the finish line first, but this time Chuck is only a few seconds behind her.

He whoops as he pumps his fist. "Yes! My best time ever!"

Sarah grins back, happy to see she seemingly hasn't damaged his male ego too much. It's a refreshing change from those times she'd outscored Bryce on the range or won their sparring matches in the dojo. The man had moped so badly that she started to make it her practice to let him win more often, just so she wouldn't have to put up with his bellyaching. With Chuck, however there's none of that ridiculous posturing that Bryce so often displayed. She had actually eased up a bit in the last race, (although her competitive spirit had prevented her from actually letting him win) not because she'd thought he'd act like Bryce, but rather just to repay his earlier thoughtfulness.

As they clamber out of the racing seats, he asks, "So, is this what it's like to drive your 911?"

She laughs. "No, Chuck. It's not bad, but the real experience is quite different. Here there's no real feel for the road, no g-forces when you turn, no wind in your hair when the roof is open. Still, this is a lot of fun."

"Well, thanks for teaching me. It seems the student has surpassed the master." He makes a little bow.

She grins and, holding her hands clasped in front of her, returns his bow.

"So, what's next, Chuck? Your turn to pick."

"Let's take a look around, shall we."

They stroll together up and down the aisles, checking the various games. Chuck stops in front of a game which appears to involve robots fending off an alien invasion. He looks her way, tries the pleading eyes thing. She's not falling for that again.

She laughs. "Uh-uh, mister. That violates two of the stipulations we agreed on. Move along." She gives him a little shove.

They round a corner, suddenly coming upon two young girls standing on a platform, using a support behind them as they move their feet in time to the blaring music and the lights flashing on the floor below them.

Sarah's eyes light up. "Oooh! What's that one?"

"That, Sarah, is Dance Dance Revolution. And there's no way I making it my choice."

"Why not?"

"You've seen me dance, right? And I've seen you dance. I'd like to try something where I don't look like a complete klutz alongside you."

"Pleeeease?" This time she tries the puppy dog eyes. And with considerably more success than Chuck enjoyed.

He grumbles good-naturedly, "Oh, alright. I doubt anyone will be looking at me anyway."

The two girls finish as they speak, so Chuck and Sarah step up on the platform.

"OK. So you have to move your feet to the beat and the pattern of lighted arrows on the floor." He points to the screen in from of them. "That's your Dance Gauge. That starts half full. Make really good steps, like I'm sure you will, it goes up. Really bad ones, like I'll likely do, it goes down. Keep it from going empty and you keep playing. Alright?"

She nods. "Yeah, I got it. How does the scoring work?"

"Don't worry about it. It's complicated and nobody really understands it. Just dance the best you can. Ready?"

There's an air of determination in her voice as she answers, "Ready."

…

Chuck almost manages two songs, his Gauge emptying just before the second one finishes. _Her_ Gauge, on the other hand, had not only never dipped below its starting point, but only kept going up. He looks to her score, totally unsurprised by where she ranked. Eleventh best on her first dance. Seventh on her second.

Sarah turns to face him, a huge smile on her face. The only evidence she just engaged in some serious exercise is a slight rosiness in her cheeks, the color accentuating her eyes. She's absolutely stunning and Chuck has to work hard to avoid invalidating his earlier assertion about the staring thing.

"Chuck, I really love this game! Can you set it for a more difficult dance?" Her almost childlike eagerness surprises him. It's like she's a different person. A real person.

He returns her smile. "Sure, Sarah, but I'm going to have to sit this one out. I'm a little thirsty. I'll grab a drink and be right back. OK?"

"Promise?"

"Promise. Not going far. You know, if you want a little more difficulty you can use both sides of the dance stage."

"You can? Can you set that up for me?" she says, eagerly.

"Sure. I'll also set it for three consecutive songs. Do you think you can handle that?" He doesn't tell her that the added benefit is some recovery time for him.

Sarah looks a little uncertain for a moment, but then firmly replies, "Yeah, that sounds like fun."

He inputs the necessary commands and then tells her, "Back in a minute."

She just nods, concentrating on the game's countdown. Chuck walks quickly to the snack area. Unfortunately, there's a bit of a line and it's more like five minutes before he returns. As he walks back, he senses a bit of a buzz in the air. A couple of young teenage boys (obviously playing hooky) slide by him and he overhears their conversation.

"I heard there's a smoking hot blonde killing it on DDR. Let's check it out."

"OK, but be cool. Don't want her to think that we're a just a couple of kids. Maybe we can talk to her after."

His friend replies, "Yeah, sounds good."

Chuck smiles, their words bringing back a memory of those many days he'd spent in the arcade. Donna McCulloch was her name, and she was great at PacMan.

 _Come to think of it, she was blonde with blue eyes too._

He comes around the corner and sees things have dramatically changed in his brief absence. Although the arcade is sparsely populated this particular day, a considerable crowd has gathered around the DDR machine, fifteen to twenty he'd guess. All, except for a couple, unsurprisingly belonging to the male of the species.

It's easy to understand why. Sarah attracts attention just by being Sarah, something Chuck had learned very early in their odd relationship. During their fake dates, he'd always been aware how the men in their vicinity would be stealing glances at her, if not staring outright. (He'd also been aware of how those same men were sizing him up, almost certainly wondering how someone like her could possibly be with someone like him.)

So seeing Sarah doing what she was doing now would be bound to gain the undivided attention of any male in the area. The current song has a frenetic techno-beat but she has no trouble keeping up, her long legs allowing her to easily reach both sides of the platform, her feet moving so quickly as to almost be a blur. On the screen flows an almost continuous series of Perfect!'s.

There are a few phone cameras out, recording the action but the light is poor and Sarah's face can't be seen from their position, so he feels there is no danger of her identity being compromised. Later could be an issue, but he's got an idea for that.

First off all, though, he wants a little clip of this for himself. Taking out his phone and juggling his soda, he shoots for thirty seconds or so, happening to catch a particularly difficult section of the song. Not for the first time, her graceful athleticism astounds him, making him realize once again just how far out of his league she is.

But even as the thought enters his mind, he knows that's his own hang up. She's never deliberately said or done anything to make him feel inferior. Instead, she's gone out of her way to encourage him and bolster his confidence. He grins. That is, of course, when she's not busy chewing him out for another stupid risk he'd taken.

 _Wait. Casey was right, I am a moron. Why didn't I see this earlier?_

He remembers how angry Ellie was with him for thinking that a cape would miraculously enable a ten year-old boy to fly. The chewing out he'd received as she cared for his cuts and bruises seemed harsh. It had taken him quite a while (and a few more similar incidents) before he finally figured out why she'd acted that way.

It appears he's been equally dense with Sarah. He's suffused with a sudden warmth at the possibility that she might care for him more than she's let on. He stows away the idea for now. Maybe he'll save it for the next time he feels down about this unorthodox relationship he finds himself in.

The last song is coming to a close, so, after tossing his drink cup into the trash, he works his way through the crowd. Just as he reaches the platform, the music stops and her score flashes up. As he'd expected, her initials occupy the top spot, and the crowd behind them bursts into applause.

He can tell this catches her by surprise. But before she can turn to see what's going on, he reaches down, picks up her purse and hands it to her. Quickly, he says, "Please put on your sunglasses."

She appears puzzled by the request, but, after a second of hesitation, does as he asks.

Then she turns, and sees the gathered crowd. From the side, Chuck can see her eyes widen as she takes in what's been going on around her.

Chuck realizes that this is the first time he's ever seen Sarah in a situation where she'd been even marginally unaware of her surroundings. He suspects that she'll likely take herself to task over it at some point. From his point of view, though, he's selfishly glad that he got this rare glimpse of the real girl.

As the applause continues, (combined with a few catcalls and cheers) he can see that she's a little embarrassed. She gives a little wave as she steps down. As much of the crowd starts to reluctantly disperse, Chuck see the two boys from earlier, along with a number of others, make their approach. All of them are obviously eager to make Sarah's acquaintance.

"I think it's time to get out of here, Sarah."

"Yes, I think you're right. Enough games for today."

They rapidly walk, almost run, through the exit doors, bursting out into the sunshine. Chuck is temporarily blinded by the noonday sun, so stops to slip on his sunglasses. As he does, Sarah looks behind them, sees they're still being closely followed by a couple of persistent individuals.

Grinning, she shouts, "Run, Chuck, run!" Grabbing his hand, she drags him along as they dash down the pier, both laughing as they dodge the clumps of other patrons. Very quickly, his long legs and her superior conditioning enable the two of them to outdistance her fans. After they duck into a small passageway between two stores, she peeks around the corner, looking back the way they came.

Turning to him, she grins. "I think we lost them, Chuck."

He grins back. "You know, Sarah, all those guys wanted to do was to say hello. It's not very often that they get the chance to actually speak with a woman like you. Or given that chance, can even muster up the courage to do so."

She looks at him thoughtfully for a few moments, then gently asks, "What was her name, Chuck?"

He's caught off guard by her perceptiveness. He's not sure he feels comfortable in telling her the whole embarrassing story, but as he returns Sarah's gaze, her empathetic expression tips the balance.

"Donna McCulloch. Went through high school with her. Well, not with her, but we were in a lot of classes together."

"You liked her?"

"Yeah, I did."

"What was she like?"

He hesitates before replying. "Tall, blond, blue eyes. I thought she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen."

He sees something flicker in Sarah's eyes, but her expression doesn't change. She doesn't say anything, just nods to show she's following.

"She was a cheerleader, the kind of girl the captain of the football team winds up dating."

"Did she?"

"Did she what?"

"Date the captain of the football team?"

"Huh! You know, I really have no idea. I didn't really travel in those circles. I just assumed she would."

She stares into the distance for a moment, pensively says, "You know, Chuck, assumptions can be crippling. So often they stop us from actually seeing what we could have. What's right in front of us."

He looks at her closely, wondering what's behind this seemingly personal admission. He waits, but she doesn't elaborate, so feels the need to fill the silence.

"In all the years I knew her, all the times we saw each other in and outside school, I never even said hello."

She raises an eyebrow. "Not even once?"

"Nope. And you want to hear the stupid part? She used to spend time in the arcade we were just in. She was actually quite a good gamer. I'd watch but never had the guts to just walk up and talk to her. Sad, isn't it?"

Sarah nods. "Yes, Chuck, it is."

"Looking back, I often wish I could have been a different guy, even for just a minute. Someone self-confident enough to just go up and say hello, not one afraid of being rejected. Maybe we could have been friends if nothing else."

Sarah places her hand on his shoulder, gives it a little squeeze. "All you had to be was be yourself, Chuck. Any girl, including Donna, who got to know you and passed up the opportunity to spend more time with you would have been a fool."

Warmed, but at the same time a little embarrassed by her compliment, he covers it by joking. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sarah. Where were you when I needed you back then? Let me guess. You were in high school beating the boys off with a stick, right?"

She doesn't reply, just smiles, but he notices it doesn't reach her eyes. There's a story there, but Chuck is gradually learning not to push. She deserves her privacy, not some insecure nerd badgering her day and night.

Of course, that doesn't mean he'll turn down anything she or others are willing to offer.

"Still, I wish I could've been at least a little bit like you were last night."

She looks a little relieved that he doesn't pursue the topic. "In what way?"

"You know, being able to put on that whole different personality at the drop of a hat. How did you do that? Did you have 'Seductive Middle-European Woman #3' all mapped out and memorized beforehand?"

Laughing, she replies, "No, Chuck. Like I said, we're trained at The Farm, but it was primarily in the aspect of improvisation."

"Well, you're great at it. Not exactly in my wheelhouse, though."

"I wouldn't say that. You've done pretty well on a couple missions."

"If I did, it was only because you guys prepped me so well. Improvising's a different matter."

"You're better than you think, Chuck. In fact, I believe you're a bit of a natural."

"Thank you for that. Coming from someone like you, it means a lot."

He glances at his watch. "You hungry?"

She nods.

"OK. There's a good place at the end of the pier."

…

Sarah can feel Chuck's eyes on her as she pops the last bit of the burger into her mouth and pushes her empty plate away. Grabbing a napkin, she catches his bemused expression from across their small table. It appears he's just finished the _first_ half of _his_ burger and has seemingly forgot about the remainder on his plate, engrossed, as he is, with staring at her. He doesn't say anything, so, after a few seconds, she asks, "What?"

"Sarah, I had no idea you had such a powerful affinity for cheeseburgers. And extra pickles. Aside from the occasional slice of pizza, I kinda thought you always ate healthy."

She smirks. "You got me. A little weakness of mine. Promise not to tell?"

"Cross my heart." He nods.

He stops to take sip of his drink. "I'm curious, though."

"About what?"

"Where do you put it? You couldn't weigh much more than—"

"Careful, Chuck." There's just the slightest note of menace in her voice.

He visibly gulps, then starts again. "You don't weigh very much at all. So how come you don't weigh a lot more than not much?"

She grins. "You know that part of Castle where you found me this morning? The part that might as well be terra incognita as far as you're concerned?"

He nods reluctantly, seems to be sensing where this is going.

"One day, if you like, I'll show you around. Help you see what it takes to burn off a cheeseburger."

"Not sure I'm ready for that. However, I might be persuaded if you could see fit to be my personal trainer."

"We'll see, Chuck. We'll see. In the meantime, are you going to finish the other half of your burger?"

He just shakes his head, pushes the plate her way.

…

As hard as she tries, she's unable to hold in the laughter bubbling up within her.

"Chuck, stop. That man is not The Flash's alter ego! He's gotta be in his eighties!"

They're sitting on a bench, soaking up the afternoon sun and watching the people walking by.

"First of all, kudos for knowing who The Flash is. Our TV date nights have obviously not been in vain. But, I will have you know that The Flash has been around since the Fifties. At least, the Barry Allen version has been. And that was the name on the man's driver's license, the one I couldn't help but see when I returned his dropped wallet to him. He fits the bill perfectly. A retired superhero enjoying his golden years."

"But, Chuck, the poor man uses a cane and walks so slowly. Surely, The Flash wouldn't move like that."

"Sarah, I have to say that I find your naiveté quite surprising. Surely, a woman such as yourself must understand that this is the perfect cover. No arch-villain would ever suspect that he is the fastest man alive. Thus, he needn't worry about his vengeful foes, or more likely, their grandchildren, tracking him down and launching a dastardly assault."

She arches an eyebrow. "Dastardly assault? Does anyone outside of comic books actually talk like that?"

"I'll have you know that the correct term is graphic novel. And yes, I have heard someone use those exact words."

"Who? Morgan?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"So, in other words, yes, it was Morgan."

"I can neither confirm nor deny your statement."

"So, it _was_ Morgan."

He says nothing further.

She chuckles. "OK. Let's assume that this Barry Allen is, in fact, The Flash, now retired. Why do you think he's here? Is it to meet with Captain America over there?" She gestures towards a muscular, blonde-haired man, leaning against the railing of the pier.

The look of horrified disbelief on Chuck's face mystifies her. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

He shakes his head, woefully. "Sarah Walker, I'm very disappointed. I thought you knew better."

For some reason, his words make her catch her breath.

His expression is solemn. "The Flash and Captain America cannot co-exist in the same space-time continuum. One lives in the DC universe and the other in the Marvel one. I fear our world implode if they were to ever meet."

Looking at her, he shakes his head again. "And to think, I had such high hopes for you, especially after you showed me how well you knew the Scarlet Speedster. It's quite clear that we haven't spent enough time going over this. Next movie night, I'll have to explain the various graphic novel cosmos' to you in more detail."

She laughs, relieved, but still puzzled by her earlier reaction. "OK, wise guy. Any other superheroes hanging around that I should know about?"

"Sarah, you do understand the whole secret part of a secret identity, right? They're not supposed to be easy to spot."

"Uh-uh, you're not getting off that easy. You started all this, so find me another one."

He nods, looks around for a few moments before bringing his eyes back to hers.

"Well, it's possible there's one more in the vicinity."

"Who?"

"Black Canary."

"I'm not familiar with that one. What kind of superhero is he?"

"First of all, it's a she."

"OK. What's _she_ like? Is she some kind of mutant that can change into a bird or something?"

"No, nothing like that. She can emit this high pitched scream that can incapacitate her enemies. Just imagine the sound Ellie makes when she gets excited about something. For instance, like when I told her we were spending the day together. Then multiply it by a factor of ten and you'll have the idea."

Laughing, she places her hand on his forearm. "Chuck, you'd better be careful. I could use that to blackmail you into staying in the car."

He smirks. "Won't work. She already knows how I feel about the 'Ellie Squeal'."

Still chuckling, she asks, "Is that it? That's all Black Canary does?"

"No. Amongst many other things, she's an expert martial artist. Has no trouble taking down guys twice her size."

"I'm happy to hear that. The scream thing by itself would have been kinda lame. Alright. Tell me what she looks like and I'll see if I can spot who you think could be her."

"OK. She's tall. Strikingly beautiful. And while I don't think this will help you identify her, she prefers a skin tight costume and fishnet stockings."

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Figures." She then looks around, spots an attractive brunette looking in a store window.

She gestures with her head. "That one?"

"Nope, wrong hair color."

She scans their surroundings once more, spots a redhead who could fit the bill.

"Her?"

"Wrong again. Black Canary is a blonde."

"Chuck, are you sure? I don't see any tall blondes in the area. Did she leave?"

"Nope, she's still around."

She looks again, still seeing no one that meets the description. A little exasperated, she turns back to Chuck.

"Chuck, there's nobody—"

His grin is so big that she's sure it must hurt his face, at least a little.

"What?!" Then it finally hits her.

"You…you," she splutters as his grin somehow becomes even bigger.

Recovering, she sternly says, "Mr. Bartowski, I'll have you know I've never worn fishnet—" She pauses. "OK, there was one mission where I had to, but never by choice."

Abruptly, he scrunches up his face, closes his eyes and presses his fingers against his temples.

Suddenly concerned, she asks, "Are you alright, Chuck? Did you just flash?"

Without opening his eyes, he replies, "No, but I'm trying to."

"On what?"

He opens his eyes. "That mission you just mentioned. But it's not coming to me. Could you give me more of the details?"

It seems that this morning's boldness has morphed into this afternoon's cheekiness. She finds she kinda likes that too.

He covers his face with his hands as she playfully swats at him. "You are in such trouble, mister. It's fortunate for you that we're in public place, otherwise, I'd be kicking your butt right about now."

He grins through his fingers, "Ooh! Is that a threat or a promise?"

For a few seconds, she can't do anything but stare at him, mouth agape.

But then an idea comes to her and she changes gears. "Chuck, I believe we should go with your suggestion."

"What suggestion? The one about installing a pizza oven in Castle?"

She shakes her head, a little wearily. "No, Chuck. I've told you numerous times that Beckman won't go for it. The one I'm talking about is me becoming your personal trainer. I think that some conditioning may be in order, you know, to help you get away from Casey when he's in a bad mood. Or, for that matter, anyone else intending to launch a 'dastardly assault' against your person." She actually uses the air quotes.

He face lights up. "Great. I'm on board. I think it'll be a lot of fun."

"I'm sure it will be." There's a wicked gleam in her eyes as she adds, "At least for one of us."

Suddenly, Chuck is very much afraid.

…

They stand close, crossed arms on the railing, watching the sun go down. Neither speak, but it's a comfortable silence, even for Chuck, so used to filling empty spaces with words.

As the last bit of the distorted disc of the sun dips below the horizon, the wind suddenly picks up. He notices her shiver, rubbing her arms. The day had been so warm that both had left their jackets in the car. Now they're paying the price.

Chuck's natural inclination is to put his arm around her and try to warm her a bit. But he hesitates. It's been such a fantastic day that he doesn't want to take the chance of ruining it by doing something stupid. After all, there's no one around that they need to fool, so he couldn't blame it on trying to strengthen the cover.

She shivers again.

Throwing caution to the wind, he places his left arm around her shoulders, gently pulls her close. He holds his breath, expecting her to pull away. But she doesn't. Instead, she turns a little and comes closer, nestles her head into his shoulder. Emboldened, he brings his other arm around, pulls her more tightly to him. She says nothing, but he notices she isn't shivering anymore.

Chuck doesn't move, barely breathes, so afraid he'll break the spell. The smell of her hair is so intoxicating that he feels dizzy for a moment. Or maybe he's dizzy simply because his heart is about to burst from pounding so hard.

He doesn't know and he doesn't care. What he _does_ know is that holding Sarah Walker this way seems like the most natural thing in the world. He can't think of a single thing he'd rather be doing than being with her, right here, right now.

He has no idea how long they stand there. Truth be told, he wouldn't care if he ever moved again. But he knows it can't last forever. He has no idea if he'll ever get a chance like this again, so he desperately tries to commit every sensation to his memory. Every little detail of the way she feels in his arms. The warmth of her head against his chest. The way a few of her stray hairs tickle his nose. How the top of her head is in the perfect position for him to kiss it. (Not that he would dare do that.) He closes his eyes, breathes in her scent.

In the end, it's a group of rowdy frat boys who ruin it. Seeing the two of them standing so close, they start with the standard comments on getting a room. When Sarah gives them an annoyed look, one suggests she join the group, learn what it's like to be "hugged" by a real man.

He tenses, is about to angrily reply, when she quietly whispers, "It's not worth it, Chuck."

He nods choppily. A few moments later, the group, after making a few more suggestive remarks, moves on. He glares after them.

Chuck looks back to her, but it's clear the moment has passed. He loosens his embrace and she steps away, crosses her arms in front of her.

"It's getting late. We should go back."

She says it so oddly; go instead of get. It's probably just a slip of the tongue, but he finds himself looking for some hidden meaning. Maybe she's implying they need to go back to where they were before today. That's precisely what he doesn't want, but can't exactly say that to her.

"Yes, you're right. I didn't realize how much time has passed."

They walk back to the car in silence, one that's less comfortable this time. Sarah doesn't appear to be upset, but rather, seems distracted, lost in thought about something. What that might be, though, eludes him. Her mood is so very different then it was earlier.

They're quiet during the whole time it takes to return to Burbank. A couple of times, he thinks about trying to start a conversation, but after seeing her concentrating on the road, decides against it.

They pull into a parking spot in front of the Echo Park apartment complex and Chuck reaches for the door handle. They've done this so often that it's almost become a ritual, one where he can predict every move. First of all, he'll thank her for the day. Then she'll say a quiet goodnight as he gets out of the car. Then she'll drive away as he watches her car disappear into the night.

He doesn't want this day to end, and he especially doesn't want it to end that way.

Chuck opens his mouth, is about to ask her if she wants to come in, have a beer, watch some TV, anything just to keep her from leaving. But before he can say a word, she speaks, catching him off guard. It's not her turn yet.

"Chuck…would it be OK if I came in for a while?" She's quiet, seems almost tentative, almost as if she's unsure that this is a good idea.

He's so surprised that he can't think of anything to say for a couple of seconds. Probably taking that for indecision on his part, she quickly goes on. "I just don't feel like going back to my place right now. I thought we could sit at the fountain and maybe talk a little."

She seems a little shy. "If that's alright with you?"

He finally manages to regain his wits. "Of course. Absolutely. That sounds great." He opens the door, slipping out before she sees the idiotic grin that he's quite certain is plastered all over his face right now. By the time she joins him to walk through passageway, he manages to tone it down to a simple smile, although, clearly, a very happy one.

…

Ellie peeks through the curtains for what is probably the tenth time, sees the two of them laughing so hard that they're wiping tears from their eyes. She bites her lip to stop herself from squealing with joy.

Turning to her boyfriend she excitedly says, "Devon, they're still there! It's been almost three hours!"

Devon turns away from the TV, lazily says, "Babe, maybe you should let them have some privacy. The Chuckster has always done his best to give us that."

"That's mostly because he doesn't want to see anything that might scar him for life."

"True, but he still does respect our private time."

"I know. It's just that I think this might be _the_ night."

"What night, babe?"

"The night. The conversation. The breakthrough."

"What makes you think that?"

"A couple of things. First, when they've gone on dates before, she almost always says goodbye out front and does so quite quickly. How many times have we heard her Porsche pull up and take off only a few seconds later? Right?"

Devon nods.

"And secondly, well just come and look at them."

He gets up from the couch and ambles over. He sneaks a quick peek.

"They look happy."

"Happy? It's much more than that. Take another look, especially at her."

He obliges Ellie.

"She's sitting pretty close to Chuck. Is there anything else?"

Ellie just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Men can so oblivious sometimes. Look again." He does. "She has her hand on his arm. She's turned towards him, leaning in close. See that! She just tossed her hair a bit. Oh, and look, she's tilted her head, smiling at him."

"Does that mean she's into him?"

"Well, duh! Of course it does. I've never seen Sarah this open before. She's always been kind of reserved. But not tonight. That's why I think this is the night."

"But how about Chuck? Think he's ready?"

"Don't worry about my little brother. He's been gaga over that girl from the get go."

She sees them stand. "Quick, duck down. She's leaving."

Ellie sees the two of them walk through the passageway together.

She mutters under her breath, "Good, Chuck. See her to the car."

Five minutes later, they see him return to the courtyard, heading for the apartment door. Ellie and Devon, rush back to the couch, throw themselves on it. They both try to look nonchalant as Chuck opens the door.

Ellie looks his way, trying to appear somewhat bored as he asks, "Oh. Hi, Chuck. How'd you day with Sarah go?"

He appears somewhat dazed, just stares blankly at his sister for a moment, then mumbles, "Good. Really good. I going to bed now. Goodnight." He slowly walks down the hallway, enters his room and closes the door.

"What's up with him?"

"Didn't you see the lipstick on his cheek? She kissed him!"

"Awesome!"

"Mark my words. Within a few weeks, at most a couple of months, those two are going to be inseparable."

 **TBC in Chapter One.**

—

 _A/N: A little long, I know. Next chapter we'll see if Ellie's prediction comes true._


	2. At Odds

_A/N: Much shorter one this time. Back to the original story with an added scene and some heightened emotions. Oh, and corrections galore due to the hard work of my beta michaelfmx._

 _Don't own Chuck, etc._

 _Enjoy_

* * *

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 1-At Odds**

 **Los Angeles** **, June 1** **5th** **,** **2119** **Hours**

Casey whispers harshly into his watch. "Walker! Bartowski! What the hell is the matter with you two? Get your heads back in the game!"

Even from a distance, Casey has no trouble seeing Bartowski flinch. Walker, on the other hand, doesn't bat an eye, simply continues to exhibit the same stiff, expressionless mask she's worn pretty much all evening. That is when she wasn't displaying flashes of irritation over the actions of her partner.

The mission plan had the two of them playing the part of a romantically involved couple. Carrying out those roles would've enabled them to reconnoiter the house under the guise of slipping away from the party for some "private" time. But from the very first moment Casey had seen them from his position behind the bar, he knew something was off. Way off.

When they'd walked into the room, Bartowski had practically been fawning over her. Through his earwig, Casey had heard the almost continuous (and nauseating) string of comments about how beautiful she was tonight, how happy he was that she was on his arm, how much he looked forward to dancing with her and so on.

But Walker had hardly said a word in reply. Just a few stiff "Thanks" with an artificial smile plastered on her face, and even that, clearly, only for the benefit of people standing nearby.

Things had rapidly gone downhill from there. He'd tried to kiss her, but she'd turned away, only allowing him a peck on the cheek. When he put his arm around her shoulders, she'd quickly shrugged it off. And when he'd tried to lead her to the dance floor, she'd pulled away, shaking her head. Eventually, they wind up standing a foot apart, barely acknowledging each other's existence, not looking each other's way at all.

At Casey's harsh admonition, the two move a little closer, hold hands again and try to carry on some semblance of a civilized conversation. But it seems that their hearts aren't in it. Everything they do is stiff, unnatural. To all appearances, they're a couple on the verge of a breakup rather than one who can't keep their hands off each other.

Their blatantly obvious discord marks them as the center of attention for many of their fellow partygoers, making it impossible for the two of them to slip quietly away from the gathering.

After an hour passes with no improvement, Casey growls, "We're done here. Let's pack it up."

With this pronouncement, Walker's mask slips just enough for Casey to see her relief that the mission is over. Freed from any further need for pretense, she marches out of the room, paying no attention to Bartowski following angrily behind her.

As Casey watches them leave, he can't help but think that Beckman's not gonna like this.

 **Castle, June 16** **th** **, 0808 Hours**

The tension in the room is nearly a perfect example of the knife cutting variety.

Of the three people in Castle's briefing area, two are seated as far apart as possible while still remaining in the view of the redheaded, irascible woman whose face is displayed on a large monitor.

The third, sitting equidistant between the two, is currently engaged in replying to the pointed question being directed at him by this same woman.

"Major Casey, before I ask the others, could you please give me your opinion as to how such a simple mission went so wrong? All we required from Agent Walker and Mister Bartowski was a basic reconnaissance of what we thought could be a Fulcrum related establishment."

"General, even from my position at the bar, it was clear that the two of them were unable to carry off the act of being a couple. Their lack of rapport was very evident. As a consequence, they came under scrutiny almost immediately and were unable to remove themselves from the party, even for the short time needed to reconnoiter the house. After some time had elapsed without any improvement in the situation, I decided to abort."

Beckman considers this for a few moments and then brings her attention to the blonde sitting at the briefing table.

"Agent Walker, for the last few missions you and Mr. Bartowski have had no difficulty in passing yourselves off as a couple, even as a married couple for the last mission." Beckman pauses and then asks, somewhat puzzled, obviously irritated, "Could you tell me what is going on?"

Sarah doesn't answer for a moment, but when she does, it is in a firm, no-nonsense tone of voice. "General, I apologize for my part in disrupting the mission, but I feel the Intersect has lost sight of the fact that our relationship is nothing more than a cover. In the past few weeks, I've felt uncomfortable with his constant pressure to take things beyond that limit. I found those continued attentions at the party to be cloying and, quite frankly, very annoying.

"General, I feel the asset has lost his ability to separate fact from what is his self-created fiction."

From the other end of the table, Chuck angrily jumps in, "Sarah,-"

She harshly cuts him off. "Please address me as Agent Walker when we're not in a cover situation."

"Thank you for that update, Agent Walker," Chuck replies, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Perhaps if you could learn to let your guard down a little and stop acting like some freaking emotionless robot, we wouldn't be having this problem."

Jabbing her index finger in his direction, she icily says, "Don't you try to put the blame on me! You're the one who overstepped the boundaries that were set at the beginning of our cover relationship."

"I was simply trying to be your friend. Obviously you find it difficult to grasp that a man could want just that. It's glaringly apparent that you believe that every man who comes into contact with the beautiful Agent Walker must naturally fall in love with her."

Indignation flashes up in her eyes. "I believe no such thing!"

He sneers dismissively. "Sure. Whatever."

She's trembling with rage. "How dare-"

"Enough!" Beckman's voice and the sound of her hand slapping on the desk cuts through their bickering. "I can't remember the last time I witnessed such juvenile, unprofessional behavior."

Both have the grace to appear a little chagrined, but neither stop shooting daggers at the other.

Beckman continues, furious, "This type of conduct is intolerable. I've broken up teams for less. I'm very tempted to do the same here."

She glares at them for a moment or two, then curtly says, "Agent Walker. Mr. Bartowski. Please leave us. I need to consult with Major Casey."

That she says please doesn't disguise that this is, in fact, an order.

Both stand and, while pointedly staying as far from each other as possible, exit the room. Each head to a different part of Castle, their mutual scorn screamingly evident in their body language.

"Major Casey, thank you for alerting me to this issue. I had noticed some earlier tension between the two of them. However, I hadn't realized it was quite this serious."

"Yes, Ma'am. The last couple of weeks have been increasingly difficult. But I didn't think it would come to a head this way. They've always managed to accomplish the mission goals before, even when they weren't getting along."

"Well, Major, if they had to botch a mission it was just as well it was this one. But it certainly wasn't the result I expected."

"Yes, General."

She's quiet, thinking. "What do you think the problem between them is?"

Casey ponders the question for a moment, and then replies, "I believe there's some truth in both of their views on the matter. Agent Walker is very attractive and is used to most men wanting to be more than just friends. After the Larkin incident, she has become more wary, less trusting, that is, if I'm correctly reading between the lines of her file.

"However, I also believe she feels a small measure of attraction to the asset. She knows that kind of relationship is unacceptable, so is perhaps a little overzealous in her rejection of his offers of friendship."

Beckman nods at this. "Do you feel she has compromised herself in any way?"

Casey responds unblinkingly, "No, ma'am.

"And what of Mr. Bartowski?"

"I believe the asset is deceiving himself with regard to the nature of his feelings towards Agent Walker. It's possible he honestly feels he's just offering friendship, but his end game is a relationship with her."

"Interesting observations, Major. What do you suggest we do with the two of them?"

"General, I checked and came across several somewhat similar situations. They were handled in an unusual, but ultimately effective way. I sent an example to your inbox, Ma'am."

Beckman opens the file and reads while Casey stands patiently. "Now that you mention it, Major, I do have some vague recollections of some of those cases. Those involved two agents though, not an agent and an asset. Why do you feel this approach would be appropriate?"

"Ma'am, in reality, Bartowski is much closer to being an agent than an asset. His involvement in missions is very different than what would normally be expected of someone in his position. As a result of this, I feel this approach is suitable."

She nods. "I tend to agree with you, Major. One additional question about Agent Walker. If we go through with this, she may be asked to perform actions with which she appears to be uncomfortable. Do you feel she will be able to carry them out?"

"General, Walker is the consummate professional. I believe she will follow her orders both for the sake of the team and the good we accomplish." He pauses. "I strongly believe this team warrants the effort. On everyone's part."

"Thank you for your input. Please instruct Agent Walker and the asset to return to the briefing room in fifteen minutes. I will make my decision known at that time."

"Thank you, General."

...

A few minutes later, Sarah and Chuck happen to arrive at the entrance to the briefing area at the same time.

Chuck immediately backs off a few paces and with exaggerated politeness says, "After you, Agent Walker. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by being in your general proximity. After all, someone could get the wrong idea and think that we're friends."

Sarah says nothing, deliberately ignores him as she walks back to her chair. He follows a second or two later, a sarcastic smirk on his face, paying her no further attention as he resumes his seat.

Casey is already sitting, waiting for Beckman to reestablish the connection.

She does so and, without any preamble, says, "As I mentioned earlier, I am appalled by your lack of professionalism during last night's mission. I was very tempted to dissolve this team."

She stares back and forth between the two of them for a few moments, before continuing, "However, your successes warrant the chance to rectify these issues.

"Agent Walker. Mr. Bartowski. This is what is going to happen. We maintain a safe house in Malibu. You two will spend the next week there."

They both start to protest, loudly talking over top of each other.

"There's no way I'm going to spend a week with-"

"I won't do-"

"BOTH OF YOU, BE QUIET!"

They both stop, stunned into silence by Beckman's outburst.

"It appears that you two have somehow gotten the idea that you actually have a choice in this matter. Nothing could be further from the truth, I assure you."

They wisely remain silent as they listen to her further instructions.

"Listen carefully. There will be no surveillance, electronic or otherwise, while you occupy the premises or on any excursions you may choose. Without having to be looking over your shoulder, so to speak, I _expect_ you will work out whatever issues currently exist between the two of you. At the end of the week, you will attend a specified social function together. By then you _will_ demonstrate at least the pretense of getting along with one another. Am I clear on this?"

They both nod, reluctantly.

"Agent Walker, after this, you and Mr. Bartowski will move in together to further your cover. You will then assume all monitoring duties for the asset. Since you will be on site, there will be no further need for remote surveillance. Major Casey has been performing this job long enough."

Sarah slams her chair back, jumps to her feet, her anger clearly on display.

"General, you can't do that! It's completely unfair. You're ordering me to give up any semblance of a private life."

"Sit down, Agent Walker!" It appears for a moment that she will disobey, but then unwillingly drops herself back into her chair.

Beckman continues, "I can and I will. You should have thought of the consequences before you so clearly demonstrated your inability to correctly handle the asset.

"And Mr. Bartowski, wipe that grin off your face. Don't assume that just because I am ordering you and Agent Walker to behave as a couple, that you actually are now or will ever be such.

"However, I do expect that the both of you will, in _all_ public situations, mission related or otherwise, be able to portray yourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend. Or more if required. On the other hand, if you choose to ignore or actively dislike each other during your private time, that is of no concern to me.

"Is all of this completely clear to the both of you?"

They nod again, their expressions a mixture of anger and submission.

"I didn't hear you. Is everything clear?"

"Yes, General."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"In that case, Major Casey, Mr. Bartowski, you are dismissed. I would like to speak with Agent Walker for a few minutes in private. Please excuse us."

…

As the two of them leave the room, Chuck turns to Casey and asks, "What do you think Beckman wants to say to Sarah that she couldn't say to us all?"

"She's probably giving her the 'Whatever Means Necessary' speech."

"What?"

"This team has been so successful that Beckman wants to make sure it stays

together. She's likely telling Walker to do whatever is needed to make sure you cooperate."

"I'm not sure what that means."

"You're not a total idiot, Bartowski. Figure it out."

Chuck appears puzzled for a moment but then the light goes on. "Including seduction?"

"Bingo."

An angry look on his face, Chuck replies, "Do they believe I'm stupid enough to fall for that?"

"I doubt you're the first man Walker has worked on who has thought that. She can be very persuasive."

"I deserve to be treated better than this. I can and will do my job without it having to come to that." His outrage is etched in his tone of voice.

After fuming for a few more seconds, Chuck abruptly changes the subject. "Casey, I guess you've noticed things have been tense between Sarah and me the past couple of weeks."

The big man grunts his assent.

"We've fought before, but it's never interfered with a mission until last night. Sometimes I find Sarah's distrustful attitude almost insufferable. It's like she won't let anyone get close to her, not even as a friend. I'll do my best to make this team work because we accomplish a lot of good, but it won't be easy working with her."

Casey replies, "Remember, we're taught to not really trust _anyone_. It shouldn't be surprising that she's that way."

"I agree it's not surprising, but she still makes me angry."

…

Five minutes later, Sarah storms out of the briefing room, her features set in a mask of poorly concealed fury.

As she passes the area where Chuck is waiting, she briefly glances his way and spits out, "We're leaving. We'll head to my apartment first. Then we'll go and get your stuff."

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she climbs the stairs towards the exit, two at a time. As she reaches the top, she turns to see that Chuck, apparently being stubborn, still hasn't followed. She glares at him, finally gets his feet moving.

After seeing Chuck heading to the stairs, she exits without waiting for him.

As Chuck slowly goes up the steps, he looks back at Casey and jokingly says, "I'll do my best to defuse things, but if you don't hear from me after the week, you should send a search party to find where she buried my body."

This falls flat because Casey appears to take his request seriously. Seeing this, Chuck almost stops moving but, after a moment, continues on his way.

…

Sarah is sitting rigidly behind the wheel of her Porsche as Chuck approaches, her eyes straight ahead, the engine already running.

As he drops himself into the passenger seat and closes the door, she puts the car in motion even before he has time to buckle up. As they head to her hotel, he glances at her a couple of times, but she never looks his way, not even for a second. Not a word is spoken the entire trip.

When they pull into the parking lot and stop, she finally speaks, tersely, almost ordering, "I'll need your help with some of my stuff."

And with that, she's out of the car, again not waiting for any reply from him. By the time he's out his door, she's already twenty feet ahead of him, heading to the lobby.

He rushes to catch up and does so just as she reaches the elevators. It takes a minute or so before one arrives. They spend the entire time in silence, looking anywhere but at each other. When a car does come, they enter and gravitate to opposite corners. Just before the doors close, an elderly gray-haired woman enters. She smiles at them both but quickly seems to sense the palpable tension. Her look passes back and forth between them, then she gives her head a sorrowful little shake.

When the elevator reaches her floor, she starts to exit but then stops and turns to face them, holding the door with her hand.

"I know it's none of my business, but one of the few advantages of being old is you can say pretty much whatever you want.

"You two love each other."

When they both start to make sounds of protest, she continues, "Don't bother denying it. I can see it plainly. Right now, something is wrong between you. My advice to you is fix it. Now. Don't waste your lives over what might have been."

With that, she turns and, as the door closes, walks away.

Neither says a word and both look down, unable to meet the other's eyes.

…

Sarah enters the room first, Chuck following a few steps behind.

After he shuts the door and locks it, she stops and turns to face him, arms folded, her expression unreadable.

"Freaking emotionless robot? Really?"

"It seemed appropriate at the time."

She snorts at his reply.

"What's with the 'Address me as Agent Walker' thing?"

"I thought it would help to convince Beckman that I'd reached my limit, that I didn't want to spend any more time with you than was absolutely necessary."

"It was a good touch. You almost had _me_ believing it."

She deadpans. "Who says it isn't the truth?"

"What?! Agent Walker, you wound me." He places his hand dramatically over his heart and with an exaggerated expression of sadness, says, "I guess I'm doomed to go through life alone, with no one to care for me." He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. "If you need me for anything, not that I think you will, I will be aimlessly wandering the streets, weeping-"

Then she's in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, a blonde dynamo. She's so energetic that they're thrown hard against the closed door. But neither of them cares as they kiss laughingly, joyously.

After what seems to be a delightful eternity, she pulls her head back a little, that radiant smile lighting up the room. "Well, Mr. Bartowski, did you ever believe our plan was going to work as well as that?"

"No. I must admit, Mrs. Bartowski, the results exceeded my expectations by a mile."

 **TBC**

* * *

 ** _A/N: You didn't really think they were breaking up, did you? Explanations to follow._**


	3. The Misunderstanding

_A/N: A short one that takes place about two weeks prior to the last chapter. Much of it rewritten in order to show more of Sarah's feelings._

 _Don't own Chuck, etc._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 ** **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN****

 **Chapter 2-The Misunderstanding**

 **Maison 23, May 31** **st** **, 2332 Hours**

"I hate this."

Sarah looks up, startled. With her head nestled against his shoulder, his arms around her, she had almost fallen asleep when his words seemingly come out of nowhere.

She lives for this intimacy, this emotional and physical closeness. Before Chuck, she'd never known how much she needed it. Had not even the slightest idea that there was this emptiness waiting to be filled. Just one of so many differences between the Sarah now and the Sarah then.

It had taken her months to finally realize that her life had split into two distinct parts on that pivotal day. To truly appreciate how meeting him had marked the moment she began her transition from the Then to the Now.

This Now is infinitely better than that Then. Even the best of what she had in her past, pales in comparison to what she has with him. She's happier than she's ever been (or deserves) and believed him to feel the same way.

So these bitter sounding words of discontent catch her off guard, surprising and shocking her to full wakefulness.

Sarah desperately searches through her mind, trying to think of what she could have done or said to anger him so suddenly. Abruptly it hits her.

Maybe it was what she _didn't do or didn't say_ that's so upset him.

After successfully completing the Von Hayes mission, they'd returned to her room. The door had barely closed behind them, when Chuck had taken her in his arms and kissed her so soundly as to make her weak in the knees.

After telling her, once again, how stunning she was, he'd then made an offhand comment that she must have been the belle of the ball (he'd actually used that phrase) at her high school dances.

Of course, Sarah knew she'd been anything but, her intrinsic beauty obscured by her terrible clothes, ugly hair, bad makeup and those awful braces. Ostracized by all of the "cool" kids, it was a time she preferred to forget. Even thinking about it embarrassed her. So rather than talking about it, she'd quickly deflected by giving a him a kiss, one that led to another. And another. And so on.

It hadn't appeared to bother Chuck at the time, but maybe he's had time to mull it over as she'd lain in his arms. Being so open himself, perhaps he's come to realize just how difficult it is to be with someone who continues to be so reticent about her past. Maybe he'd expected she would've changed by now and his patience has simply run out.

The ironic part is that she _has_ been trying to open up to him, to let him see _her_ , to know _her_ , that woman behind all the barriers, all those walls she spent a lifetime erecting. But even though she loves and trusts this man like no one before him, letting _anyone_ that close is still so foreign to her.

In her past, these kinds of emotionally charged situations had always unnerved her. Her response had almost always been to shut down, to hide within herself. So it's no surprise that her initial impulse is to do the same here.

 _Stop._

 _Sarah, get a hold of yourself. You're spiraling. Don't assume. Ask him. It's Chuck._

Her voice is quiet as she wills herself to look into his eyes. "Chuck, sweetie, have I done something to anger you?" She means to go no further, but before she can stop herself the words spill out, "I know you would like me to open up more and I've been trying to but it's not…" She suddenly chokes, unable to finish, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

Chuck looks at her in confusion a second before he realizes just how much he has unwittingly upset her by his out of context statement. His words tumble out in an apologetic rush.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry. No. No. This isn't about you. I know you've been trying and that means the world to me. But you need to know I don't care how long it takes. I'll wait. And even if I never learn another single thing, it would never change the way I feel about you."

He starts kissing away her escaped tears and then finds her lips with his. She frantically clings to him as they kiss, almost overwhelmed with relief while at the same time chastising herself for being so foolish as to doubt him even for a second.

It's several minutes before he slowly pulls back a little. Her arms tightly encircle his neck, not allowing him to increase that distance any further. Their faces are only inches apart as he speaks, "Honey, what I hate is the absence of you. I hate how little time we have together." She hears the frustration in his voice as he goes on, "We couldn't even have a proper honeymoon. Just that one short," he stops for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes, "but admittedly incredible night."

She smiles, nodding her agreement as he continues, "It's just that we've been married for two months today, and, counting tonight, we've only been able to stay with each other five times. Really only four and a half taking into account the time we were called out in the middle of the night for that emergency mission."

Sarah brings her head closer, quickly kisses him. "Sweetie, I'm frustrated too. But we knew it was going to be very difficult for us to be together as much as we would like. There are only a limited number of times we can use the 'reinforcing the cover' excuse."

"Yeah, I know," is his dejected reply.

Realizing just how whiny he sounds, he puts a deliberate note of gratitude into his next words. "Sarah, honey, I know you've done your best to create as many of 'it's for the cover' situations as possible." He smiles as he touches her cheek softly. "And I thank you for each and every one of them."

She smiles back. "You're welcome. You do realize that I'm not being totally unselfish in this. That I want to be here, this way, just as much as you want it."

Turning his head, he sees her red dress messily draped over a chair and the components of his tuxedo scattered about.

He smirks. "Yes, you've somehow managed to convince me of that. I especially thank you for making last night one of our cover situations. You were gorgeous, stunning. Have I told you that you were the most beautiful woman at Von Hayes' party?"

He already had, numerous times, but she just smiles and says, "Thank you. However, I do believe that you're just a bit biased. By the way, you were looking particularly handsome yourself."

"I have to agree that the tux was a big step up from that waiter's outfit. Although I thought Bryce pulled it off pretty well."

Sarah laughs at that. "Yes, he did. He was obviously annoyed his part in the mission was downgraded."

"Sarah, let's be real. Most of his anger came from the fact that you danced with me instead of him." He comes closer and gently kisses her lips. "And that I got to do that instead of him."

"Yes, I believe you're right."

"While I do appreciate that you and Casey managed to talk Beckman into exchanging our roles, I'm still a little surprised it happened."

"Well, Casey helped. A lot. He really, really doesn't like Bryce. And as you know, Mr. Bartowski, I can be very persuasive."

He looks at her appreciatively, murmuring as he moves closer, "Yes, you can. In so many ways."

He whispers in her ear, "Like in Las Vegas."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: What happened in Las Vegas? Please read on to find out._


	4. What Happens In Vegas

_A/N: Think I will accelerate the release schedule a bit. At least until we get to the new or more substantially re-written material._

 _This chapter is about two months prior to the last one. Longer with a bit more substance as well._

 _Thanks as always to my beta michaelfmx._

 _Please enjoy and comment if you feel inclined._

 _Don't own Chuck, etc._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 3-What Happens In Vegas...**

 **Las Vegas, March 30** **th** **, 1739 Hours**

Frustrated.

The three of them are certainly that. Despite two days of intense investigation, they're no closer to finding the arms trafficking ring that the intel had indicated was currently operating in the city.

They're grabbing an early dinner, trying to think of further strategies, well aware that the plug will be pulled, and soon if they don't come up with something.

"Walker, you got any ideas?"

Sarah shakes her head, rather dispiritedly, in reply to Casey's inquiry.

"How about you, Bartowski?" The fact that Casey even asks Chuck directly is a sign of his desperation.

"Nope. I've got nothing."

The team is not used to failure, this being only the second time they've experienced it. As a consequence, their depressed reaction is rather disproportional to the actual extent of their shortcoming. They sit quietly for a few more minutes, none of them, not even Chuck, paying much attention to their meals.

Finally, Sarah brings her head up and looks at her teammates. "I think it's time to throw in the towel. As team lead, it's my job to tell Beckman. I'll call her now unless you have any further thoughts. Anything?"

They both shake their heads, a little unwilling to meet her eyes.

"OK then." She opens her purse and takes out her phone.

Chuck turns his head to take a drink of his water, mostly so he won't have to see Sarah's face when she has to admit to Beckman that they failed. In the months since she came into his life, he's come to know that Sarah Walker hates to fail, even more than Casey.

He'd witnessed, first hand, her reaction to failure. Right after the Radek Bonk mission had gone south, he'd seen how she'd pushed herself, driven by the belief that if she'd just been a little bit smarter, a little bit faster, or maybe a little bit tougher, the mission would have succeeded.

As demanding as she is of both Casey and him, in the end, she's much more demanding of herself. Chuck has come to understand that it's not because she wants to be better than other agents, although she is. The truth is that she wants to be better than herself, to try to reach what she perhaps has yet to realize may be a truly unattainable level.

Chuck felt then, and still does, that she'd been much too hard on herself. So he'd had offered her a bit of a break, a chance to take her mind off of her frustrations. Even to this day, he's surprised she took him up on it.

They'd had a great day at the pier. And when they arrived back at his place, rather than just dropping him off and driving away as she usually did, she'd walked in and sat beside him at the fountain. They'd talked and laughed well into the evening. And, as she was leaving, she'd given him a quick, almost shy peck on the cheek and thanked him for a great day.

When she'd driven away, Chuck realized that this was only the second time Sarah had expressed affection that had nothing to do with their cover. And while it was pretty minimal compared to that impassioned kiss on the docks, he still felt like he was on cloud nine.

There'd been every indication that it'd been a very good day for her as well, but she'd never again mentioned it. And the few times he'd tried to bring it up himself, she shied away, quickly changed the subject.

It seems it's as if she's trying to forget it ever happened, and sometimes he wonders if she actually has managed to do so. Most likely she believes she overstepped some boundary or other.

This verbal lack of acknowledgment confuses him because he can see that since that day, she often looks at him very differently. On those rare occasions when he catches Sarah off guard, her expression is often pensive, occasionally puzzled, sometimes a little distracted. But then she sees his glance and she's all business once again.

He wonders, after this failed mission, which Sarah will appear: The one who once allowed him to be there for her, or the one who would spurn his offer and try to do it all on her own.

He hopes for the former but realistically expects it to be the latter. He strongly suspects that the Sarah of that special day was an anomaly, not one he'll likely see again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her about to press the call button. As he raises his glass to his lips, he observes two men enter from the restaurant's parking lot.

The flash is immediate and intense. He covers it by pretending to choke on his water. As Sarah pats his back, the phone temporarily forgotten, he mutters, "Russian gun runners. Just walked in."

Chuck has to hand it to his partners. Even though neither of them gives any outward sign, he knows their attention immediately focuses on the two men.

They walk by, down to the far end of the window booths and sit down. After Chuck "recovers", he quietly gives Sarah and Casey more details on the pair.

Sarah asks, "What do you think, Casey? Should we try to follow them or plant a tracker on their car?"

Casey considers for a few moments before answering, "Traffic's a little light today. They might spot us. I think the tracker is our best bet."

Chuck interjects, "How do you know which car is theirs?"

They both give him "The Look", Sarah's being a little kinder.

"Of course. How could I have forgotten the spy maxim: 'Always be aware of what's going on around you.'" Even though he avoids the gesture, the air quotes are very evident in his tone of voice.

Sarah pats his hand as a small gesture of approval.

"Walker, give me two minutes to get the tracker from the car. When you see me coming back, I'll need you to distract them for a minute."

"OK, Casey. When you see me get up from the table, get ready to go."

With that, Casey slips out from their booth, surprisingly unobtrusive for such a big man.

As Casey exits, Sarah surreptitiously removes her Smith & Wesson from her purse and passes it to Chuck under the table.

Quietly, she asks, "Here. Please hold on to this for a minute." When he flinches, she adds quickly, "Don't worry, the safety is on."

As he hides it under his coat on the seat, the "why" is obvious in his expression.

Sarah softly replies, "You'll see."

Using Chuck to shield her from the view of the Russians, she quickly unfastens two of the top buttons on her white blouse.

Chuck immediately averts his eyes but not before catching a flash of white lace. Suddenly his face feels a bit warm and he looks out the window, trying to appear nonchalant. He doubt's he's fooling her, though.

Sarah just smiles and shakes her head a little. He is so unlike the vast majority of men she has known in her life. He's seen her in outfits that revealed much more than this. That purple negligee. Skimpy bikinis. He'd seemed to handle those situations alright, had been the gentleman, keeping his eyes (mostly) on her face. And yet here, he's obviously embarrassed.

Some of it is shyness, she knows. But there is more to it than that. Respect for her. Perhaps an subconscious desire to show her he's not like most men. Or a dislike of the actions she sometimes must take for the job. Probably a combination of all of them.

She finds it a little puzzling but also finds it kind of adorable, a word that she has only really started to use since she met him.

As she glances out the window, she sees that Casey is in position. Giving him a slight nod, she picks up her purse, stands and walks towards the restrooms. As she does so, Chuck slides over in their booth so he can see how she'll divert the attention of the two men.

Just as she passes by the table of the two Russians, she appears to stumble, dropping her purse. It's content's spill noisily onto the hardwood floor. As she crouches down to retrieve the items she looks up and gives the two men an embarrassed little smile.

"Sorry. I'm just so clumsy sometimes. I'll just clean this up."

One of them speaks up, his voice mildly accented, "It is not any problem. Take as much time as you require."

Considering the view they currently have of the strikingly beautiful blonde with the tight fitting jeans and partially open blouse, they obviously wouldn't care if she never moved. Their eyes never leave her the whole time she spends gathering her stuff.

When she finishes, she slowly raises herself up and flashes them her best smile. "Thanks for your patience. Hope you enjoy your dinner. Bye." She then continues on to the restroom.

Chuck's been so fixated on the little drama that he doesn't even notice Casey slide back into the booth. He's startled when he turns his head to see the man beside him.

"Ca-Casey, you're back." Chuck stammers out, surprised.

Casey sarcastically replies, "Well, the tracker is planted and I couldn't very well hang around their car, now could I? Sooner or later the two of them were are going to notice something other than Walker."

"I didn't even see you do it." Chuck shakes his head in disbelief.

"Obviously. I think I'm the only man in the area who didn't have his eyes glued to her."

Chuck nods somewhat distractedly, agreeing with Casey.

She walks back a few minutes later and again the eyes of most of the men, including the two arms dealers, follow her back to their booth.

She looks at Casey as she raises an eyebrow. He just nods briefly.

"Alright then. We'll go in a few more minutes and wait for them in that mall parking lot across the street. Casey, what's the range of the tracker you planted?"

"Two miles."

"We'll give them a mile and then follow. Do you have everything we need in the Crown Vic?"

He just looks at her without replying.

"Sorry, dumb question."

Looking back to Chuck, she catches him glancing towards her blouse. She deliberately does the two buttons back up. After gesturing downwards with her eyes, she tilts her head and raises one eyebrow as if to ask, "More comfortable now?"

She can tell he's embarrassed again, knowing she saw right through his earlier reaction.

 _H_ _e's so easy._

 _And adorable._

…

An hour or so later finds them parked on a dusty street in an industrial part of the city. Casey and Sarah are in the front seat using their binoculars to observe a building a block away from their position. The GPS tracker tells them the car is stopped near the somewhat disreputable looking structure.

"What do you think, Walker? Warehouse of some kind?"

"Looks like it. Pretty old, though. I guess that could make for better cover."

"Almost looks abandoned. Might help to deflect any suspicion about any illegal activities, especially if they're working under the cover of darkness."

"And being here, right on the edge of town, would help as well. Not too many people around."

"We'll have to be careful. The joke would be on us if this turns out to be some innocent business."

"If it is legitimate, it would be a riddle as to why those Russians are here."

Chuck is looking incredulously back and forth between his partners, literally biting his lower lip to keep himself under control. Do they have any idea who they sound like? He thinks not, as it's very unlikely that either of them is familiar with campy TV shows from the sixties, but the tropes in their dialogue, along with the stilted delivery, are so reminiscent it's uncanny. And to top it all off, they're sitting in a black car filled with all sorts of gadgets and weapons.

 _It's funny. So funny._ He bites his lip even harder. He just wishes Morgan was here.

When Casey floats the possibility of climbing to the building's roof for recon purposes, Chuck can no longer contain himself. He jumps out of the car with a hurried "Excuse me", and runs toward a nearby dumpster. Casey and Sarah quickly turn around, surprised at his rapid departure. They see him disappear behind the trash container, followed immediately by a series of hard to identify noises.

Sarah wonders if the nerves have gotten to him for some reason and he's feeling a little sick.

 _Strange, he's never shown this kind of reaction before. Poor guy._

She turns to her partner. "Casey, I don't want you making fun of him when he gets back to the car. Remember, he's not trained to handle stress like us. So go easy on him, OK?"

Casey appears a little reluctant to agree, but after a moment nods curtly.

A couple of minutes later, Chuck returns to the car, red-faced with the remnants of tears in his eyes.

Sarah looks at him, concerned, and kindly asks, "You OK, Chuck?"

"I'm fine now, Sarah. Thanks for asking." He glances towards Casey expecting some sort of cutting remark, but all he gets is an unintelligible grunt as the man continues to watch the warehouse.

"I'm glad you're feeling better. Did your dinner not agree with you?"

He can see she's trying to give him an easy way out, probably thinking he's been sick because of stress or nerves. And even though she's unknowingly way off the mark, her genuine consideration for his feelings touches him and he's very grateful.

"Yes, maybe that's what it was. I really appreciate your concern."

"It's nothing. We're all part of the team and we need to look out for each other. Isn't that right, Casey?"

Casey appears to be caught a little by surprise when Sarah brings him into the conversation. He doesn't say anything for a second or two, but then mumbles, gruffly, "Glad you're feeling better, Bartowski."

Chuck immediately knows even this limited amount of concern comes from Sarah's urgings. He's again grateful that she took the trouble.

He looks at Casey and says, "Thank you." He says nothing more because he knows Casey doesn't like to be put on the spot any more than he is right now.

"Sure," is his monosyllabic reply, given without even turning his head.

Chuck sees a small smile pass over Sarah's face as she quickly looks away.

Seeing the darkening surroundings, she asks, "Casey, when's sunset?"

"19:00."

Chuck's tempted to ask how he knew that, but stops himself, knowing he'll just get "The Look" again.

She checks her watch. "OK. That's in fifteen minutes. 19:30 should be dark enough to go in."

She turns to Chuck. "You'll be coming in with us. We'll probably need your help with the security system, assuming there is one. Also, you may be able to help us identify what they have in there."

She gives him a stern look but there's also a trace of humor evident in her eyes. "Besides, if we leave you in the car you probably won't stay here anyways. At least this way I can keep an eye on you. You're going to stay close to me, right?"

He grins a little at the accuracy of her observation and nods his head.

"Walker, we've got a truck."

At this from Casey, she turns from Chuck and, grabbing her binoculars, rejoins the surveillance.

Even with the unaided eye in the failing light, Chuck can clearly see the large "ICE" emblazoned on the side of the sizeable panel truck. As it moves toward the warehouse, he notices an illustration below the word. He can't quite make it out, but as the truck passes under one of the few functioning streetlights in the area, it clicks in: Stylized penguins standing on floating blocks of ice.

This is so unfair. He's just regained his equilibrium and now this. Before he can stop it, a guffaw escapes his lips, but he quickly turns it into a small coughing fit.

Sarah briefly glances over her shoulder, but he just waves her off and nods his OK.

The truck is moving fairly slowly as it approaches the warehouse. It hits a large pothole and they can tell by its reaction the truck is heavily loaded. A man opens the warehouse's vehicle doors and Sarah comments, "It's one of the Russians."

She gives them both a wry look. "It seems unlikely they could be doing anything in there that requires that much ice."

He nods while Casey grunts his assent.

They watch until darkness sets in but don't see any further activity.

"It's time we got into our mission gear. Chuck, you and Casey can change behind the car. I'll change in the back seat."

As he exits, she's already climbing over into the back. Chuck walks to the rear of the Crown Vic and watches as Casey opens the trunk. Three bags are marked with their names. Chuck picks up Sarah's and takes it to the rear door. When he opens the door to hand it to her, she's just taking off her jeans. He catches a startling, inadvertent glimpse of her long legs. Unclothed long legs. Blushing furiously, he quickly turns his head and blindly hands her the bag.

"Thanks, Chuck."

He embarrassedly mumbles something incoherent in return. As he closes the door, he's sure he can hear her chuckling.

As he rounds the car to get his bag, he comes across Casey already down to his boxers and undershirt.

 _Great. I get to be embarrassed by both of my half naked partners today._

He has to admit, though, that the first incident was much more pleasant than the second.

He turns his back and starts to remove his outer clothes. The trunk lid is fortunately still up, so Sarah shouldn't be able to see him changing. _Thank goodness for that._ It's already intimidating enough to have to do so in front of Casey.

A few minutes later finds them all in their dark mission garb, bulletproof vests and equipment in place.

As they approach the building, they're careful to keep under cover as much as possible. Even though they hadn't, in their earlier surveillance, seen any external cameras, there's always a chance they missed one.

As they near a side door, Chuck notices a new security keypad, which definitely looks out of place with the rest of the building. After flashing on it, he deactivates the alarm. Sarah then uses her lock picking skills and they quickly move inside. Gun in hand, she takes the lead with Casey as rear guard.

Numerous crates and cases of many different sizes and shapes are everywhere in the dimly lit, cavernous building. Chuck stops to look at one of the containers and then flashes on the serial number printed on its exterior.

He whispers, "Sarah, Casey, this crate has two Russian 9K38 Igla MANPAD missile launchers."

Casey replies, "They're older but still very effective."

Sarah nods, her face grim.

At every turn, they discover the massive extent of the weaponry contained in the building.

Chuck is starting to get a headache from the constant flashes when Sarah speaks up, "OK. We've got enough. Time to leave and call in the Tactical Team." As she says this, she again takes the lead as they head back to the side door.

As she rounds the corner of one particularly large crate, Sarah is thrown to the ground by a sudden and completely unexpected gunshot. The round hits the bulletproof vest at the abdomen and the wind is violently knocked out of her. But to Chuck, she appears to be convulsing, her chest heaving, perhaps badly wounded.

Both men are momentarily stunned by the abruptness of the violence, but it's Chuck, not the trained agent, who reacts first.

"SARAH!" he cries out and, before Casey can stop him, lunges toward her.

This initiates a veritable barrage of gunfire from the direction of the first shot. As he reaches her, Chuck is completely exposed. Casey, instantly realizing it's the only way he can help, starts to lay down cover fire.

As Chuck grabs the collar of Sarah's vest and starts dragging her to safety, a bullet impacts his own vest. It's probably a ricochet as the jolt is comparatively minimal. Just before he gets behind the crate, a bullet grazes his right arm near the shoulder. The blood starts flowing immediately but he notices neither this nor the pain, focused as he is on the woman, who by this time, is in his arms.

In anguish, he pleads, "Sarah, Sarah are you OK? Please tell me you're OK." He tries to see if she's bleeding, but it's hard to do with his tears almost blinding him.

For a moment, there is no response, and he's certain she's dying. But then she opens her eyes and nods weakly.

For a few more seconds, he lets an overwhelming sense of relief wash over him. Then this is abruptly pushed aside by an emotion he has never truly experienced.

Chuck had been angry when his parents left, furious with Bryce's treachery, and irate at Jill's betrayal. But this, this is new to him.

Complete, utter, unadulterated, murderous rage.

He carefully releases her, letting her head rest gently on the floor. Before she can react, he takes the pistol from her hand.

Casey, still exchanging gunfire, doesn't notice Chuck until he stands straight up and screams, "YOU BASTARDS!" He then starts wildly firing in the general direction of the bad guys until the slide locks on the empty magazine.

The audacity or possibly the absurdity of a six foot three man disdaining the protection offered by the four-foot high crate seems to momentarily stun everyone else, including Casey, into inactivity.

Not a shot, other than Chuck's, is fired for a few moments. Then Casey roughly drags him down behind the crate and the shooting from the bad guys begins anew. This particular container must contain something very solid because none of the rounds penetrate to their side.

"Bartowski, you moron! Are you trying to get yourself shot? Walker will kill me if that happens on my watch!"

Now that the adrenaline-driven, temporary rage has passed, he starts to shake. But it's only for a moment until he realizes Sarah might still need his help. Keeping well down he crawls over to her.

Sarah is already sitting up, having finally regained her breath. She has just finished replacing the radio on her belt when he reaches her. She holds out her hand and Chuck somewhat sheepishly gives her back the gun. She inserts a new magazine and releases the slide to chamber a round.

Sarah gives him a stern look and simply says, "Later."

As she joins Casey on the firing, line she tells him the Tactical Team is on the way.

Within a few minutes, said team arrives and the situation is brought rapidly under control. As the five restrained bad guys are led out, it becomes obvious that, despite the massive number of bullets expended, the only people hit are Sarah and Chuck.

The medic is dressing Chuck's arm as the gunrunners file past him. Upon seeing them, he says, "I'm glad I didn't hurt anyone." The relief in his voice is easy to hear.

"Fat chance that could happen with the way you were shooting, Bartowski," is Casey's predictable observation.

"Hey, I seem to recall that I wasn't the only person who was shooting at them!" is Chuck's unexpected response.

This seems to catch Casey off guard, so his sarcastic rejoinder dies on his lips and he just grunts instead.

Sarah, in some pain but otherwise fully recovered, observes the interaction between the two with a small smile on her face, one that, however, lasts only for second or two.

Chuck and her will need to talk about what just happened, but Sarah has no idea of what she's going to say, torn as she is by the conflicting emotions warring in her mind.

This infuriating, endearing man is driving her crazy. Part of her wants to pound him for being so stupid, while another part wants to hold him tight and thank him for being so brave.

 _Well, I guess I'll just have to play it by ear._

 **TBC**

 _A/N: The next Vegas chapter will follow in a couple of days. Thanks for reading._


	5. Stays In Vegas

_A/N: Pretty much a Charah chapter. If you haven't read this chapter already, I hope you will enjoy the resolution. If you have read it, thanks for coming back._

 _In the previous chapter there was a somewhat repetitive section about their day at the pier. That's now been abbreviated, hopefully for the better._

 _Thanks again for all the readers and reviewers, old and new_

 _Don't own Chuck._

 _Enjoy_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 4-...Stays In Vegas**

 **Las Vegas, March 30** **th** **, 2307 Hours.**

Later, at their hotel, she hears a hesitant knock on the connecting door to Chuck's room. After all the commotion had died down, she had tersely told him they needed to talk about the events of the evening.

"Come in."

The door opens slowly, and he reluctantly walks into the room. It's apparent by his body language and facial expression that he expects to be chewed out.

She knows that's exactly what she _should_ do, but after thinking it over for the past hour, she finds she just doesn't have the heart to chastise him.

After she was hit, she had been only dimly aware of someone dragging her to safety. When she had opened her eyes and seen Chuck's face only a few inches from hers, she had been overwhelmed by the expression in his eyes and the tears running down his cheeks.

It wasn't just concern for a friend and partner. It was love, expressed more profoundly than any words could have.

She had always strongly suspected, who was she fooling, _known_ , he felt that way towards her, but he'd never made it so clear as he had at that moment.

Right then she had been so proud of him, so grateful. But then he had stood up and done something so appallingly reckless that she feels ill, terrified, even now.

She's torn between the two sides of his behavior. However, in the end, the pride and gratefulness have won out.

She pats the bed beside her, indicating for him to sit. Sarah, having just showered and dried her hair, is waiting for him there, in sweat pants and a tee shirt. He's dressed similarly, the wound bandage just visible under his right sleeve.

He sits down, staying at least two feet away. Sarah smiles to herself.

After a few moments, she turns to him and says quietly, but very firmly, "Don't _ever_ do anything like that again."

He looks at her surprised, having apparently expected her to shout her disapproval.

A few seconds later he asks, "Which action are you referring to? Pulling you behind the crate or shooting at the bad guys?"

"Both."

"OK on the shooting part. I agree it was idiotic. I'm sorry for that." His shoulders slump as he admits to his stupidity.

But then he straightens up before continuing, "However, it's a definite no on the other."

"What?!"

"You heard me."

"You could've been killed!"

"If I'd left you there, you would have died for sure."

"But-"

He cuts her off sharply, something she can't recall him ever doing before. "No, Sarah. I don't care what you're going to say to me. You'll never convince me that I should have done otherwise."

Sarah is momentarily speechless. It's rare for him to be as forceful as this.

He pauses as if to gather his thoughts, and quietly, firmly goes on, "There's something you need to know. I often think about us, how we may wind up, how this could all end. I need you to know how I feel, so you can understand why I acted the way I did tonight. You shouldn't have to guess about something this important."

"One way, is you leaving." She starts to protest but after he gently shushes her, he says, "Please, let me finish."

"Whether you leave by choice or by orders, I know it would be a body blow and would take a very, very long time to recover from it. However, I believe what would carry me through is the hope that wherever you are, you're happy…and loved." The last two words are almost whispered.

While he's saying this, the gap between them somehow disappears. As he speaks, his gaze is locked on a spot somewhere near his feet.

"So much worse, so very much worse, is that you die while doing your job, whether in Burbank or somewhere halfway around the world. There are no words to adequately describe how I would feel about this. Knowing that Sarah Walker is no longer in the world would make my life barely worth living."

By this point they're holding hands, both seemingly unaware of it.

"But the worst…the worst of all is seeing you die in front of me without me doing everything, absolutely everything in my power to try to stop that from happening. Even if that means expending myself in the attempt."

He turns his head to look at her. "Sarah, if I simply stood by and let you die, what point would there be in me going on?

"Now, do you understand why I said no?"

Sarah is barely able to nod, stunned, unable to say anything in reply. She's astounded by his words that so precisely define how she feels about him, about the excruciating possibility of losing him. She's never even articulated those words in her own mind, so to hear them out loud is shocking, almost like he has read her innermost, unspoken thoughts.

If the situation had been reversed, she knows that nothing could have stopped her from going to him. And like him, duty or friendship would not have been the prime motivation.

Sarah actually shivers when she remembers how death had come within inches for the both of them this night. She is acutely aware that it really would have taken only a single accurately aimed bullet to truly end the lives of two people.

Grasping all this has finally put everything in perspective for her. Denying her feelings for him, hiding behind the stupid rules, looking for what she needs in someone other than him, is such a colossal waste of emotional energy and precious time. Time that almost ran out tonight.

But then the full import of how he apparently feels hits her. It seems all he envisions is doom and gloom for them. It would be so bitterly ironic that, if at the moment she's finally ready for them, he no longer thinks it's possible, that he's given up.

It would almost be laughable if it wasn't so damned tragic.

She has to find out if she's too late, if she's missed her opportunity. She leans forward a little and turns her head so she can look into his eyes as she asks, "Chuck, don't you see anything good for you and me?"

He looks a little embarrassed as he turns his gaze away from hers, his head down. He doesn't reply.

After a few more moments of silence, she quietly pleads, "Please, Chuck. You've told me some of your deepest fears. I can only imagine how difficult that was for you. Aren't there some hopes as well?"

A few seconds pass and she thinks he may not answer. But then his downcast eyes come up as he looks her square in the face.

"Yes, Sarah, I do have hopes…dreams." Here he pauses, perhaps to muster up his courage.

Quietly, he continues, "I see myself waking up beside you each and every morning. I see a ring on your finger. I see a home, children. I see the life I've always wanted and see you wanting it as well."

He grasps her hand more firmly. "I see you in love with me." He says this defiantly, almost as if he expects to be rebuked for harboring such foolishness.

An invisible weight lifts from her heart. Sarah now knows exactly what she's going to do. What she wants, no, _needs_ to do.

She stands up. "Chuck, please get dressed. There's someplace we need to go.

He looks confused, bewildered by the sudden change in mood.

"What? Why...?"

"Please trust me. Can you do that?"

He regards her for a second or two and then nods slowly, the look in his eyes affirming the movement of his head. "Always."

"Good. I'll change quickly and then we'll go. And leave your watch in your room. No one else needs to know where we're heading."

Puzzled as he is, Chuck nonetheless obediently walks through the connecting door. As he leaves, she takes out her phone and after searching through the contact list makes a call. After speaking for less than a minute she disconnects.

Walking to her suitcase she grabs a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt. She puts these on after quickly shucking off her sleepwear. She also retrieves a couple of small items from a secret compartment. Just as she finishes tying her shoes, she hears Chuck come back into her room. As she stands and looks his way, she can't help but laugh as she sees his outfit.

Black tee shirt and jeans. The only difference is that his Chucks are high tops and hers are low.

He, too, obviously sees the humor as he laughs. "People will probably think we're part of a cult or something."

She chuckles back. "Got a jacket? Could be chilly out."

He answers by holding it up for her to see. Even that looks a bit like the one she's just putting on.

Shaking her head, she takes his hand and they leave the room.

As they drive, it's clear that he's curious as to their destination, but he stays quiet, only looking in her direction a couple of times. After a few miles, she stops her Porsche in the back parking lot of a somewhat rundown looking building on the northwestern side of the city. His curiosity appears to go up another notch but he still refrains from asking. They both get out of the car and start walking towards the front of the building, hands held tightly.

As they near the entrance, a small flickering neon sign catches Chuck's attention. Stopping suddenly, he turns to her, clearly puzzled, and asks, "Wedding Chapel?"

"Chuck, the simple truth is that we can't have all we want right now." Even though she puts no special emphasis on the two uses of "we", it's clear he notices. A smile starts to spread on his face.

She goes on, encouraged by his response, "But I want to give you everything I can." She gestures to the sign. "Including this." She adds, hesitantly, almost shyly, "If that's what you want."

He appears speechless. Sarah wonders if she's gone too far, too quickly.

Just when she's about to speak again, Chuck closes the gap between them, takes her in his arms and with their faces only inches apart, quietly asks, "Sarah Walker, is there an offer of marriage somewhere in there or am I just dreaming?"

"Chuck Bartowski, is there a yes in there somewhere or am I just hearing what I want?"

"Well, let me think about this for a moment. Hmm, the most beautiful, most exciting woman in the whole world, who appears to be madly in love with me, even though she hasn't actually said the words, wants, for some inexplicable reason, to marry me and make me deliriously happy." He pauses, as if in deep thought, "Nope. I'm just not seeing it. I think I'll just have to wait and see if someone better comes along."

He looks around as if he expects that woman to walk by at any moment.

She pretends exasperation. "Fine. I love you. I'm crazy, mad in love with you. Are you happy now?"

A slow smile spreads across his face. "Not as happy as I will be in about ten minutes, but yeah, pretty happy."

"Speaking of which, Mr. Bartowski, I'm not sure I've heard an exact declaration of undying love from you either."

"You haven't? That's surprising, considering I've said the words about a thousand times in my head."

He pulls her a little closer and in all seriousness says, "Sarah Walker, I've loved you pretty much since the moment I first saw you. And if you'll have me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me.

"How was that?"

With her head against his chest, Sarah tries, but fails, to hold back her tears. She's unable to answer for a moment, but after clearing her throat finally manages to say, "Not bad. Not bad at all."

Sarah can feel _her_ heart and hear _his_ heart rapidly beating as he holds her close. It's almost as if the two are in sync. _Don't be foolish. Of course, they're in sync._

And as much as she loves being held by him, there's something else she would love even more at this moment.

She looks up into his face. "Chuck, I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me."

"I thought that's when the person who marries you says, 'You may kiss the bride', although I've always wondered why you needed permission considering she's already agreed to mar-"

Gently cutting him off by putting her fingers on his lips, smiling at his rambling, she says, "Chuck, now would be good."

He seems to be more unnerved about the kiss than the prospect of marrying her only a few minutes from now. Considering this will only be the second time they've _really_ kissed, and the first time he is to initiate it, perhaps his apprehension is understandable.

Their first had been unexpected, intense, urgent, and had caught both of them unprepared for the emotional turmoil it had generated. It had also been fantastic, breathtaking.

Sarah wonders if, like her, he has speculated as to whether a second real kiss could possibly be as good.

As he leans into her and their lips meet, Sarah quickly realizes her worries are completely unfounded.

Whereas the first kiss was a frenzied, clinging, frantic, desperate hello/goodbye, this one is the deliberate, yet still intensely passionate, promise of a future. Of oaths made to be kept. Of Chuck and Sarah.

Her arms encircle his neck to bring him close as possible. His right hand at her back, the left in her hair, he pulls her in tight, hard. When she moans and parts her lips, he eagerly accepts the offer, gladly reciprocating.

Their kiss presumes nothing but demands everything. That they give their absolute best to each other, now and into what stretches ahead.

Sarah has a vague awareness of what sounds like a carload of teenagers driving by, hooting and shouting about them getting a room. It's only vague because she once again quickly loses appreciation for anything but him, so close to her, his lips soft, hard against hers.

A little while later, they're both breathing heavily, their foreheads touching.

After a few more moments, Chuck asks, concern in his voice, "Sarah, how is this going to work? Are we going to use fake names? If we use our real ones won't they pick up on that?"

"I thought we might have to use the false identities I keep with me, but I came up with a better idea."

"Wait. Sarah, you have false identities for both of us? Why?"

"I've had them since the new year, in case we needed to run."

A look of comprehension passes across Chuck's face, and he pauses for a few seconds before saying, "Sarah, I was wrong earlier when I said you hadn't told me how you feel about me. You did tell me, some time ago. I simply wasn't listening well enough."

Sarah, caught unaware at his words, is about to mildly object to his assumption, when she abruptly realizes that he is absolutely correct.

When she had made all the provisions to run, if needed, she had felt it was simply because she felt angry, guilty, for what the government had done and was maybe going to do to him. She'd thought that this was her way of trying to compensate for the callous cruelty of her superiors. She had believed that there was nothing personal about her actions, that she would have altruistically done the same for anyone under her protection.

What a load of rubbish!

She loves Chuck Bartowski. Obviously, for quite some time now. And for that love, she has done and will do all she can, will risk everything, to keep him from harm, to keep him at her side.

What if the incident at the warehouse hadn't happened the way it did? If he hadn't revealed his feelings afterward? How much longer would it have taken for her to fully understand how much she cares for him? Needs him?

Her ineptitude in matters of the heart almost causes her to shake her head in disbelief. For someone who can size up a tactical situation in seconds, she's truly lousy at seeing what's right in front of her.

"You're right, Chuck. I've loved you for a long time. Can you forgive me for not saying it sooner?"

"Sarah, there is nothing to forgive. You've said it a hundred different ways in a hundred different actions, but I wasn't listening. I'm the one who should be asking for forgiveness. I should have told you how much you mean to me long before tonight."

She kisses him quickly. "Hey, don't worry. I sorta figured that out a long time ago. Your actions speak too, you know? Kind of like how you probably saved my life tonight."

Looking intently into his beautiful eyes, she says, "Words seem inadequate, but I do thank you."

"What's that? About eighty-seven to one in your favor? But you're welcome."

After another long kiss, she pulls back a bit and cheekily says, "As I was saying before someone kept interrupting me." He pretends to be puzzle while pointing at himself and mouthing "Me?"

"Yes, you. I had a better idea than using those identities. Our director of festivities tonight is an old acquaintance of my dad. Once, when I was about fourteen, my father lent me out for a job that this man was running. Seemed he needed a daughter figure for a quick con."

Chuck looks concerned, angry and Sarah thinks how good it is to have someone who's looking out for you, someone who wants to keep you safe. It's such a nice change to be the protected rather than the protector.

"Don't worry. He was a perfect gentleman, almost like a nice uncle. Anyway, he still owes me for that. Last time I saw my dad he happened to mention that Sam was running a wedding chapel in Vegas. I'm not sure what his angle is but this part, at least, is legit. So I called him and set this up for us. He doesn't know it yet but he's going to marry us and then lose the paperwork for the time being until I can find some way to make it completely legal down the road."

She looks into his eyes again as she says, "I know this isn't the way you would like this to happen but it's the best I can do for now. It'll be tough. We won't be able to spend as much time together as we would like. We won't be able to tell anyone, not even Ellie or Devon and especially not Morgan. At least not until I can figure out how to get this by Beckman."

She's tentative as she asks, "Is that going to be OK with you?"

He looks at her, his appreciation and admiration evident in his expression. "Sarah, I told you earlier what I want, and someday I hope we'll have all those things. But it all starts with you. I want you. This, this is more than I honestly ever expected to happen. As long as I can be with you, the rest of it can wait for as long as needed."

Blinking back her tears, she kisses him yet again. "Thank you for being such a wonderful man."

"Just part of the irresistible Bartowski charm."

She pats him lightly on the chest. "Along with your natural modesty, right?"

"Goes without saying."

She laughs. "OK, Chuck. Let's get this show on the road." She digs into her jeans pocket and brings out two gold wedding bands. "These are part of our run identity kits. We won't be able to wear them later but I would still like to use them tonight."

"Why, Sarah, even in our fake life you had us married. I think there could be something Freudian in that."

She starts to laugh, but suddenly stops as a contemplative expression comes over her face. "You know, you may be right. I never really thought about it that way."

As they start to walk towards the door, she abruptly realizes he's not beside her. She turns to see him down on one knee, a diamond ring held in his fingers.

"Speaking of rings, I think I better make this official. And even though I know the answer, I still want to ask. Sarah Walker, will you marry me?"

"What? How?" She stammers, surprised, confused.

"It was my mother's. When she disappeared, she left it for Ellie. Remember that day we spent at the pier?"

Chuck's heart soars when she nods with a happy smile on her face. She did remember!

"That night was the best conversation we'd ever had. You aren't normally the most talkative person," he grins at her embarrassment. "So even though you didn't reveal any really personal stuff, I still came away knowing you better than ever before. That night has taken on even more meaning since I know now that this was about the time you made your provisions in case we needed to run. I'm curious, did you set up our run identities after or before that night?"

She thinks for a moment, and then with wonder evident in her expression, replies, "I started the next morning."

They're both silent for a moment or two as they appreciate what this means.

Chuck continues, "Well, Ellie saw us out there, could tell how happy I was. Next morning she gave me the ring. She told me that I needed to be prepared for 'The Moment.' I thought she was being kinda presumptuous. I loved you but didn't really believe it was reciprocated. I tried to give it back but she insisted I keep it. She was supremely confident that the right time would come. She basically gave me no choice and so I've been carrying it with me every day since then, transferring it from jeans to work pants and back again."

He looks intently into her eyes. "It seems as if tonight is the right time." She nods happily, her complete agreement evident. "I know you won't be able to wear it after tonight, but I still want you to have it. Just knowing that will remind me of what we _do_ have and strengthen my hope for the rest."

"Your sister is a very wise woman. And to make it official, the answer is yes. And the ring is beautiful. Until I can wear it openly, I will keep it as close as I can."

She holds out her hand and as he slides it on her finger, a huge grin splits his face, quickly mirrored on hers.

This time, she grabs his right hand to make sure he's with her as they head to the door. But just as they're about to enter he stops walking and raises his arm so he can see her watch.

He holds up his other hand, palm outward as he says, "Hold on for a moment."

"What's the matter? Got cold feet, mister?"

His answering grin assures her that it's nothing of the sort. Still looking at her watch, he says, "Nope." A few more seconds pass and then, as he lowers his arm, says, "OK. We're good now."

"What was that all about?"

"It just passed midnight. When our kids ask us about this, I want to be able to honestly tell them that we weren't engaged and married on the same day. I would like them to think we had at least a modicum of self-control."

His seemingly offhand statement about their future catches her off guard. Sarah is suddenly hit by the magnitude of the commitment she is about to make. She knows she should be terrified. The Sarah of a few years ago certainly would have been. Who's she kidding? Even the Sarah of a few _months_ ago would have run away screaming.

But not _this_ Sarah. Not _Chuck's_ Sarah.

While she certainly can't face it yet with complete equanimity, at least that destiny he describes so confidently doesn't have her gibbering in fear. She honestly finds a strong appeal in the thought of someday being able to tell their children about how they met and their very unusual lives. For a moment, she even imagines the expression on their faces when they learn their seemingly stodgy parents were actually spies.

But first thing's first.

She turns to him. "You ready?"

He nods. "Absolutely."

"Oh! One more thing. As much as I love the shy, bashful, sometimes-can't-look-at-me-without-blushing Chuck, he's going to be taking the rest of the night off, right?"

Of course, he blushes as her meaning sinks in. She just grins at his discomfort.

"Yes. Definitely. This is the last of him you're gonna see for a while."

She gives him a quick kiss. "Good. So long as we're clear on that."

They walk through the doorway, hand in hand.

 **TBC**

 _A/N: Hope there wasn't too much Charah in this chapter. There will be a little bit of angst in the next one. You know, to kind of balance things out. Who am I kidding? Still mostly good stuff._


	6. Getting To Know You

_A/N: Important chapter. The Plan comes to light. Lots of Charah._

 _This chapter is a longer one with about a third of it completely reworked. I've put a lot into it, especially tried to expose more of Sarah's insecurities and emotions. I hope it meets your approval._

 _Thanks for all the kind reviews. They're always appreciated. I would especially like to hear your opinions on the new part of this chapter._

 _Using the accepted idea of italics for the long flashback section._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 _Enjoy!_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 5-Getting To Know You**

 **Castle, June 1** **st** **, 0845 Hours**.

"Well done, team. Thank you for your verbal accounts. It's very gratifying that the mission to recover the stolen data from Mr. Von Hayes was accomplished with maximum effectiveness and speed. I look forward to your written reports.

"Major Casey, Agent Walker, in retrospect I can see you were right in suggesting that Mr. Bartowski pose as the husband rather than using Agent Larkin in the role. By the way, he sends his apologies. He left last night. Apparently, he has some sudden, urgent personal matters that need attending to. Since his role last night was operationally minimal, I didn't require his attendance this morning.

"Agent Walker, you and Mr. Bartowski were very effective as a married couple. I congratulate you both on your acting abilities."

Looking at Chuck, she continues, "Especially you, Mr. Bartowski. From what I have seen of the surveillance videos, as well as Major Casey's observations, you were especially convincing as the loving husband. Well done."

"Thank you, General. However, Sarah deserves most of the credit. Her ability to fool others into thinking that she was the devoted wife was well demonstrated."

"Well, either way, a very good job. There will be another opportunity to use this cover in two week's time. We will want you to infiltrate a party at a suspected Fulcrum location. The files with the preliminary intel are in front of you. When we get closer to the actual operation, we will have a briefing along with any needed updates.

"Unless there are any other matters that you need to bring to my attention?" Seeing no indications from the team, her next words are, "Beckman out."

Sarah turns to her teammates. "Since we're all on late shift today, I suggest we could have a breakfast meeting to discuss this upcoming mission."

Casey shakes his head as he says, "There's a lot of work to do in the armory. You two go ahead. You can fill me in later." With that, he walks out of the briefing room.

"Well, Chuck, I guess it's just the two of us. Unless you have plans as well?"

"No, I'm free. Where did you want to go?"

"We can head back to my place. I'll order some room service and we can go over the information together."

"Sounds good."

As they head up the stairs, they can see Casey already hard at work. They wave a goodbye but he doesn't notice.

Chuck grins. "That man is dedicated to his weapons."

"No surprise there. One of the first things a soldier is taught," Sarah replies.

As they exit the Orange Orange, he turns his head to face her, and quietly says, "That was clever of you. Making sure the mikes picked up your suggestion for a breakfast meeting. How did you know Casey wouldn't want to join us?"

"He hates that sort of thing, especially this far in advance of the actual op." She shrugs her shoulders. "But if he had agreed, we would simply have had a real meeting instead of what is going to happen now."

"And what is _actually_ going to happen now, Mrs. Bartowski?" He asks, an innocent look on his face.

"If you haven't figured out that one yet, Mr. Bartowski, I'm obviously not doing a good enough job of the 'devoted wife.'"

"I believe I've caught your drift. I guess I need to make sure I also fulfill my role as the 'loving husband.' But it would also be nice to have breakfast with you later. After all, we didn't have time this morning."

"I don't seem to recall you complaining about why we ran out of time, sweetie." His ears go red. "But, I'm sure that can be arranged. Although it might have to be more of a brunch."

…

Sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard, he asks once again, "Sarah, I hate to be the bad guy here but don't you think we should at least look at the file?"

Sarah, snuggled up against him, arm across his abdomen with her head on his chest, seems to be disinclined to do anything except stay close to him. Not that he would mind that, but knowing Beckman it's certain she'll be asking some questions about the upcoming mission. And this was supposed to be a meeting for that purpose, after all. He doesn't want Beckman or Casey to have any suspicions about anything going on between the two of them. Besides, they both need to be at work by one o'clock.

"Sarah..."

"Alright, if you insist." With an exaggerated huff, she sits up against the headboard.

"Sarah. Sheet, please."

"Oops! Didn't notice it had slipped." She glances down and then smiles at him as if embarrassed. However, she makes no move to correct matters. He knows that, for some reason, she gets a somewhat perverse pleasure in messing with him. Not that he really minds, of course.

Even though they've spent relatively few hours together as a married couple, that time has been sufficient to cure him of at least some of his natural shyness around her. He continues to be stunned, amazed by her beauty but at least he can look at her in her current state and not blush. Well, at least not very much.

Looking very deliberately at her face, he dryly says, "I'm sure you didn't. But you well know I won't be able to concentrate on anything else if you stay in that condition."

"Spoilsport," she pouts. She does, however, pull the sheet back up to a modest height.

He passes over her copy of the file folder and then opens his. The both read for a while in silence, taking in all the aspects of the mission, objectives, time, date, location. _Hold on, what's this?_

"Sarah, there's something odd here."

She quickly picks up on his serious tone. "What is it, Chuck?"

"Before the debriefing this morning, I happened to come up behind Casey when he had a file open on one of the workstations. Normally he would have sensed I was there, but for some reason, he didn't this time. Even though I wasn't intentionally snooping, I saw what was on the screen just before he noticed me and quickly turned off the monitor."

Sarah, used to his roundabout way of explaining matters, waits patiently for him to get to the point. She nods to indicate she's following.

"The file was part of a list of CIA, NSA, and DEA safe houses and other properties owned and used by these agencies."

He pauses. "Sarah, this house, this address was on the screen before Casey shut it down. It's owned and operated by the DEA."

"What?! Are you sure?"

"Unless the file was wrong, yes, I'm certain."

"Chuck, can we get a street view of this place on your phone?"

He grabs it off the nightstand and opens the appropriate mapping app. He inputs the address and a few seconds later they're virtually in front of the house.

Sarah studies it for a few seconds. "Yes, you're right. I recognize it. Carina and I ran an off the books sting out of there a few years ago. I'm annoyed I didn't remember the address."

Chuck can see she's genuinely upset with herself over that. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. You're the smartest person I know, aside from myself of course."

This gets a chuckle and a smile out of her, as he had hoped. "Well, Mr. Smarty-pants. What do you think this all means?"

He looks at her, smiles and says, "That, I am going to leave up to a someone with a mind much more devious than my own."

She sounds a little dubious in her reply, "I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should. I did mean it in the best possible sense."

"I'm not entirely certain there _is_ a best possible sense of that word."

"Maybe I should have said convoluted. Is that better?"

"A little. I see what you're getting at. This does have me thinking along some twisted paths." She pauses and Chuck can see she's racking her brain.

"There's something at the back of my mind. I just can't quite recall what it is."

"Sarah, sometimes when I was taking a test, I would skip a question I couldn't answer and come back to it later. Maybe-"

"That's it!" She gives him a smacking kiss. "It's a test!"

He's a little confused. "What's a test?"

"The whole mission. You know that anytime a superior is concerned about an agent's mental state or capabilities they can order a psych test."

He nods. "Did they order you to have one after Vegas? You obviously must have been a little crazy to marry me and I figure that must have been evident in some way or other."

"Very funny. I'll have you know that marrying you was the sanest thing I've ever done."

She looks into his eyes and smiles. "And don't you ever doubt that, mister."

Chuck can sense the steel behind the smile and teasing words. It's a kind, but firm warning that this is not a subject for continued jest. It sends a chill through him as he hears the absolute conviction in her voice, her total certainty about the rightness of them. He'd be a fool to go on joking about that.

She continues, "Evaluations are ordered from time to time. But there are rare times when an agent or agents are put into a situation where they don't know they're being evaluated. In those cases a scenario is set up at a controlled location and the unknowing agent is informed that it's a mission. It's felt that this can sometimes give a more accurate indication of the agent's abilities or lack thereof. I've only known of this happening a couple of times."

"Sarah, why would you think they're doing this?"

"I'm not sure. We've only recently started going on missions as a couple, so it could be that Beckman wants to be sure about us. Perhaps they'll introduce some wrinkle in the mission and see how we adapt, whether we can handle the pressure. All I know is that everyone at that party is going to be secretly watching us."

"Well, Sarah, this is a test we won't have any trouble acing. We make a fantastic couple, a great team if I say so myself."

She smiles at his confidence, both in them and their abilities. She gently touches his cheek. "Yes, we do. In so many ways."

Just as she finishes speaking, a sudden idea hits her.

"Chuck, I think we should fail this test."

His confusion is evident. "Why on earth would we want to do that?"

"Bryce and I went through a situation a few years ago. What happened then could help us now." As she mentions the name of her ex-partner she looks at Chuck's face, thinking how proud she is of him.

...

When Bryce had popped back into their lives for the last few days, Sarah had been a more than a little concerned with Chuck's reaction. She knew the endless hours of pain, frustration and jealousy the whole Bryce-Jill/Bryce-Sarah mess had caused him

So, while Bryce was here, Sarah had done everything she could to allay any residual insecurities Chuck may have had. Whenever they'd had a moment of privacy, even for just a few seconds or a minute, she'd reassured him with a touch, a kind word or a quick kiss. When the three of them were together, she had made sure that Chuck saw her firm rejection of even the slightest advance on Bryce's part.

Sarah could tell that Bryce was puzzled by her conduct. Perhaps he'd been expecting a renewal of their previous relationship, at least to some degree. When she made it clear to Bryce that it wasn't going to happen, he'd just shaken his head as if he couldn't understand her.

When he had seen both Casey and her strenuously campaign for Bryce to be relegated to the secondary role, it appeared that he'd finally grasped that there was no longer any chance for him and her to be together. Sarah suspected this realization was at least partially responsible for his hasty departure.

Sarah would've loved to have been able to tell him that Chuck and her are together. That she is with someone who truly cares for her, who understands her and is willing to put her needs ahead of his own. In other words, someone the exact opposite of Bryce. But of course, she couldn't do that.

She'd been delighted with the way Chuck had acted during the entire time. Even when he had come to her hotel and unexpectedly found Bryce there, he hadn't been upset or jealous, not even in the slightest.

As they'd lain together, earlier this morning, she'd told him how she felt about the way he'd handled the whole scenario. His reply had touched her deeply, while at the same time catching her by surprise.

…

 _"Sarah, since we've been together, you've never given me any reason, not even the smallest possible one, to make me doubt your love for me or your total commitment to us. So having Bryce Larkin parachute back into our lives didn't concern me at all. I was never worried about him coming in here and sweeping you off your feet, not because I'm arrogantly assuming you couldn't find someone better than me because I know you could." He gently silences her sound of protest at that._

 _"It's because I trust you completely."_

 _"So all the effort I made to show you that I felt nothing towards Bryce was unnecessary?"_

 _"Yes. I knew what you were doing the whole time."_

 _"Why didn't you tell me?"_

 _"What? And stop a drop-dead gorgeous woman from paying me extra attentions, giving me secret kisses? What kind of fool do you take me for?"_

 _"A stinker is what I take you for." She tries to say this angrily but her smile gives her away._

 _He chuckles for a moment but then, becoming serious, continues, "Sarah, Bryce Larkin doesn't scare me, at least not any more. The only person who truly frightens me is myself. In the past few weeks, I've twice had dreams, nightmares really, where my behavior has been so unacceptable that I was no longer worthy of your love and respect. I wake up, reach for you, and of course, you're not there because you can't be. And just for that moment, I think it's true." He turns away as he says this, eyes locked on the ceiling._

 _Sarah, shocked and distressed by his words, quickly raises herself up so she can look into his eyes. She places her hand on his cheek and gently turns his face towards her._

 _"Chuck, please look at me."_

 _When he does, she firmly says, "You know that's never going to happen, don't you? You aren't Bryce, you aren't like any other man I've ever known. You're not capable of doing anything that could stop me from loving you. In truth, I should be the one who's worried."_

 _He smiles at that. "You giving me the 'It's not you, it's me' speech, Walker?"_

 _When she doesn't return his smile, but instead turns away, her eyes downcast, Chuck quickly understands that she's serious._

 _He gently asks, "Sarah, what is it? Are you OK?"_

 _She doesn't immediately answer. Bringing her eyes back to his, she finally replies, "Chuck, there's something we've never discussed. Something important. Something that we should have talked about before I dragged you off to that wedding chapel."_

" _Sarah, is it me? Is it something I've done?"_

" _No, Chuck. I really meant it when I said it was me."_

 _He gives her a crooked smile, trying to lighten the mood. "You're not going to tell me that you're already married, are you?"_

 _Sarah frowns. "Chuck, please don't kid around. This is important."_

" _I'm sorry. You know that's my defense mechanism, the one I use when I'm nervous. And I'm really nervous right now. Sweaty palm kind of nervous. I'm starting to kinda freak out here."_

" _I need you to be patient with me."_

" _Sarah, I meant what I said last night. I'll wait for as long as it takes. Until you're ready."_

 _She ducks her head. "I know. Sorry."_

" _No apology needed."_

 _Sarah's quiet for a while, but, Chuck, true to his word, simply waits on her._

" _Chuck, that night, after you told me how you felt about me, about us, I knew, right then, that I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. I wanted that future you spoke of so badly that I didn't stop to think how unfair I was being to you. I just pulled you along, didn't even give you a chance to really think about what you were doing. There were things you deserved to know before…"_

 _He waits for few seconds before asking, "What things, Sarah?"_

 _She clutches at him, burying her face in the crook of his neck._

" _Sarah, you're trembling. What is it? Please tell me."_

" _I can't do it, Chuck."_

" _Can't do what, Sarah?"_

" _I can't lose you."_

 _Although he has no idea where this is coming from, he's actually relieved that's all she's worried about. "Sarah, honey, you don't have to ever worry about that."_

 _She raises her head, looks at him unflinchingly. "Yes, I do._ _Because you've married someone you really don't know. The truth is that I'm not anywhere near good enough for you."_

" _Sarah, that's crazy-"_

" _No, Chuck. What if you wake up one morning, a week or a month or a year from now, and it suddenly hits you that the person sharing your bed has done all these terrible, awful things? And, what if, at that moment, you finally understand you've made a horrible mistake by choosing to be with a person like me?'_

" _Sarah, stop! Where is this coming from?"_

 _She doesn't stop, and Chuck hears what he thinks is panic in her voice. It scares him. Sarah never panics._

 _Never._

 _"What if you were to look at me lying beside you and realize you could no longer stomach the idea of touching me, kissing me, loving me?"_

 _He's frozen, utterly dumbfounded._

 _Sarah's voice is shaky and she speaks so quietly that he has to strain a little to hear her. "Chuck, if...if I ever saw you look at me that way…it would kill me."_

 _He knows he needs to do something, say something, but finds himself completely overwhelmed at seeing Sarah this exposed, this vulnerable. Her openness had surprised him, when, late last night, she'd thought her actions were responsible for his misunderstood words of discontent. But there's literally no comparison between that and what he's seeing now._

 _He opens his mouth to speak, but before he gets the chance, Sarah, her words pouring out in a torrent, cuts him off._

" _I should have told you about the things I've had to do for this job. You had the right to know that before you agreed to marry me. But I didn't give you the chance. Because I was a coward. A selfish coward. I was afraid that if you knew, you wouldn't want me. I've wanted to tell you so many times, but I wasn't brave enough to take the risk of losing this. I can't go back to the way it was. I just can't. I can't lose you._

" _Chuck, you've made me so happy."_

 _The tears running unchecked down her cheeks seem to belie her last statement, but he understands._

 _Raising his hand, he gently brushes away her tears. "Sarah, honey, you don't have to do this."_

" _Yes, I do." Swiping her fingers across her eyes, she sniffles before continuing, "Chuck, when you said you had nightmares about doing something to drive me away, I could see you were genuinely distressed over even the idea of doing something like that. But you could never do anything like that, not really. And there I was, listening to you agonize over that and I'm the one with this horrible past that I've hidden from you. I knew then I had to tell you. So you could decide."_

 _A chill runs down his spine. "Decide what, Sarah?_

 _Pulling back, she brings her eyes to his. "Whether you should stay with me or not."_

 _He's angered by her lack of faith in him, so his words are terse. "Sarah, I promised to stay with you through good and bad. I have no intention of breaking that vow."_

" _I know you promised. I didn't mean it that way. It's just that you married me under false pretenses. You had no real idea what kind of person you were tying yourself to. You have every right to back out. And I would never hold it against you if you chose to do so."_

 _She says this with almost no trace of emotion in her voice, and it's easy for Chuck to see that she's slipped into her clinically detached Agent Walker persona. He's not sure why. Maybe it's for his benefit, to give him the chance to make a decision not swayed by her previous outpouring of emotion. Perhaps she's steeling herself for the possibility that he'll take her up on her offer._

 _Except for the redness of her eyes, any onlooker would think she's nothing but calm and collected. But he can sense her agitation, can see it displayed in so many small ways. The tiny movements of her eyes, the minuscule furrow of her brow, the fingers of her left hand, alternating, again and again, between clutching at his back and then relaxing._

 _Then it dawns on him. During this whole emotional turmoil, she's been assuming something that isn't true. When he takes that into account, her fears seem eminently plausible._

 _He pulls her closer again. "Sarah, honey, there's no decision to make. I'm not going anywhere."_

" _Why, Chuck? How can you be so positive, so quickly?" Even though her words are doubtful, he can hear the guarded hope in her voice._

" _Because you're wrong. I do know you."_

 _Her eyes dull and he feels her slump in his arms. "Chuck, please don't. Don't say that just to try and make me feel better. You've told me time and again how much you wished you knew more about me and my past. I've seen your frustration when I can't bring myself to open up."_

" _Yes, that's true. I do want to learn more and I have been frustrated. But, Sarah, you're missing something very important."_

" _What?"_

" _There's a vast difference between knowing about a person and actually knowing a person."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _Think about it. When you walked into the Buy More that first time, I assume you'd already read a dossier on me?" She nods. "So, even before we met, you knew a lot about me, all sorts of facts about my job, my friends, my family, what happened at Stanford, and so forth."_

" _Yes, Chuck, I did." She looks puzzled. "Where are you going with this?"_

" _Getting there. So, looking back, would you say you actually knew me when we first met?"_

 _There's a wary optimism in her tone of voice. "No, I didn't. You were nothing like I thought you'd be."_

" _So, it took you a while before you actually knew me. You had to spend time with me, see me in action, so to speak, before you could say you really knew Chuck Bartowski. Agreed?"_

 _For the first time in quite a while, she gives him a smile, albeit a very small and tremulous one. "Yes. You're right. And it's been an interesting ride."_

 _He grins back at her. "I'll take that as a compliment."_

 _He's happy to hear even the tiniest chuckle escape her lips._

" _So, Sarah, try to imagine what it was like for me. You walk into my life, this gorgeous, amazing woman that I fall for pretty much right off the bat. But I know almost nothing about you. And you're rather reluctant to rectify that situation."_

 _She opens her mouth to speak, but he doesn't give her the chance. "Yes. I know that backs up what you were just saying. And had that been the only way for me to get to know Sarah Walker, you would be right about our relationship."_

 _He pauses for a second or two, gathering his thoughts._

" _First of all, despite how I sometimes come across, I'm not naive." He taps the side of his head. "This thing in my brain doesn't allow me to be. Right from the start, I've known about some of the things you've done. I flashed on some of your missions, as well as a few files relating to Graham's 'Wild Card Enforcer'. Even I knew that a person doesn't get a title like that for no reason._

" _And even when the flashes weren't about you, they often showed me glimpses into the kind of world you've had to live in. The kind of things that have been required of you._

" _I'm not going to lie to you, so much of it horrified me, made me feel sick to my stomach. I found myself struggling to reconcile what I saw in my flashes with the woman in front of me. The woman I was falling more deeply for with each passing day._

" _There were nights where I couldn't sleep, terrified by my dreams, my_ _thoughts_ _. Reliving what I'd seen over and over. I'd ask myself how I could be involved with someone who could do such things. Sarah, it was tearing me apart."_

 _He sees her tears gathering again, wants to pull her close and kiss them away, but, instead, wills himself to go on._

" _One morning I walked into Castle determined that I was going to ask for a different handler. One with whom I could just be professional. Someone I didn't care about. I thought that if you were no longer around I could forget you and move on."_

 _Her eyes widen, and it takes a second for Chuck to realize that it's in fear._

" _Chuck, I never knew—" She chokes back a sob, unable to finish._

" _I know. I never told you because as soon as I saw you sitting in the briefing room, I knew I wouldn't be able to go through with it. When you smiled and said 'Hi', my heart almost stopped. Suddenly, it came to me that never seeing you again, never again hearing your voice, never again feeling your hand in mine, would be far worse than the nightmares, any of the anguish I was going through. I didn't know how, but I knew I had to find a way to deal with it all._

" _Then something marvelous started to happen. The more time I spent with you, the more I saw you in action, the more I started to see who you really were. I started to see the actual person behind that tough, cold-blooded exterior you presented to the world._

" _Again and again, I saw how fiercely you protected those innocents who'd been dragged into your world. How you went above and beyond, risking everything in order to do so._

" _The kicker was the night Longshore was going to take me away. I was so concerned about what was going to happen to me that I didn't realize what you standing there with your hand behind your back meant. How far you were willing to go. When you looked at me the way you did and said you'd save me later, I had absolutely no doubt you would not stop until you did. You were willing to risk everything for me._

" _Sarah, those were not the actions of a wantonly cruel, unfeeling, uncaring person."_

 _Her eyes search his face, desperately looking, he thinks, for the truth in his words._

" _I know you've had to carry out disturbing, difficult orders. I don't presume to know exactly who you were back then, how you felt about what you were doing. And I'm not going to presume that you're different now, that something has changed you._

" _All I can say is that that I know you, right here, right now. A woman who never became, and never will become one of those agents who secretly enjoys that brutish, violent part of their jobs. A woman that I don't define by her previous actions, and who shouldn't do so either."_

 _There's desperation in her voice. "How do I do that, Chuck? There were many times that I wished things could have been done differently, but I still carried out my orders."_

 _Making sure he has her attention, he continues, "Sarah, it's said that our actions define us, and there is a lot of truth in that. But the motivation behind those actions has to be taken into account as well. A police officer that's forced to kill in order to stop a murderous rampage must surely be viewed differently than the person who initiated that killing spree. They both used violent force. Their actions and the results of those actions were basically the same. But in the end, one is abhorred and the other is admired for selflessly protecting innocent people."_

 _She nods. "Even so, that police officer may still have nightmares about what had to be done."_

 _He looks to her eyes, quietly asks, "Sarah, how often does that happen to you?"_

 _She doesn't answer for a few seconds. "Most nights. Disturbing dreams if not necessarily full-blown nightmares."_

" _Even when I'm beside you?"_

 _He can see she's thinking. Then a slow smile spreads over her face, the first full-blown one he's seen for a while. One he's very happy to see. "No, Chuck. Not once in the nights we've been together."_

 _He returns her smile. "Maybe I'm like that teddy bear or Barbie doll we kept in our bed at night when we were kids. You know, the one that helped us keep the bogeyman away."_

 _She raises an eyebrow. "You used a Barbie doll to help keep away the bogeyman? You do know that's at least a little bit unusual?"_

 _Smirking, he says, "I happen to think of it as a forward-thinking choice. Perhaps it was prophetic of the situation I find myself in at this moment."_

 _She growls, "Are you saying I'm a Barbie?"_

 _He shrugs. "If the shoe fits…"_

" _That's it. You're not getting away with that, mister."_

 _She attacks him, tickling the spot she'd discovered earlier. They both laugh, wrestling for a minute or two until Chuck manages to pin her beneath him. Or, rather, she lets him pin her beneath him._

 _He kisses her for a few seconds, then pulls back a little and says softly, "Sarah, I've never been blinded, at least not completely, by your physical charms, considerable though they may be. However, I'm a man and therefore, by definition, am at least a little shallow. So, I will admit that those charms were the first things I noticed."_

 _Chuckling, she says, "Well, sweetie, that was kinda the point of the whole exercise. Figured if I was distracting enough, it would be easier to find out what you knew."_

" _You certainly were that. Did I ever tell you that after you left, I suddenly found myself barefoot in my chucks?"_

 _She has to think for a second or two, but then chuckles. "Knocked them clean off, did I?"_

 _He nods, grinning._

" _Seriously, Sarah. You need to understand that the woman who walked into the Buy More that day is not the one I fell for, not really." He gently places his hand over her heart. "No, it's the beautiful woman in here, the one you've let me come to know. That's the one I fell in love with."_

 _He pauses before adding, "And the woman I will stay with for as long as she'll have me."_

 _She looks up at him, smiling through her tears, doesn't speak for a moment or two. "OK. I'm willing to give you a probationary period. Let's say sixty years, or so. But I warn you that I may have to re-evaluate when it expires. You good with that?"_

" _Sounds fair."_

" _Good. Now that we've settled that, what time is it?"_

 _He glances at the alarm clock. "7:13. Why?"_

 _She doesn't answer directly, instead seems to be going over some sort of mental checklist._

" _The debriefing at Castle is set for 0830. Say, thirty minutes to get ready. Fifteen minutes to get there, ten if the traffic isn't too bad. Good. That gives us time."_

" _Time for what?"_

 _She grins. "What do think, sweetie?"_

 _He's a little uncertain. "Did you want to stop for some breakfast or...Oh!" He blushes as it sinks in._

" _Yes. That. Now, get cracking, mister. Time's a wastin'."_

...

"What kind of situation?"

"We'd been together about six months and had been very successful, very effective in almost all our missions. However, under the surface, we really weren't getting along."

"Why was that?"

"First of all, we were both pretty stubborn." She expects him to make some sort of cute, sarcastic remark here, but Chuck only nods to show he is following. She can see he's wondering where this is going.

"Bryce was a little arrogant, kind of condescending. He almost always felt his ideas and plans were superior to mine. He was pretty full of himself."

Chuck observes. "In other words, a lot like he is now."

Sarah chuckles. "Trust me. He was much worse then."

She continues with a rueful smile, "Well, you know me." He nods, grinning. "I wouldn't put up with that for too long. We had some doozies of arguments about mission planning and execution, but we were able to get through it and do the job. Until one particular operation."

"We were assigned a grab and go, an arms trafficker. We were to pick him up at a party. Bryce and I went separately. I lured the mark out into the gardens where Bryce nabbed him. We cuffed and gagged him and were going to move him to the van when it happened. I'd told him earlier I didn't like the planned route to the van but, as usual, he overrode my objections. It appeared to me that extra security had been placed in the area he wanted to use. So I suggested a different choice. He disagreed and to make a long story short, we were seen by security while we argued. We had to leave the mark behind and run for it, bullets flying."

"Later, at the debriefing, we were told that due to our previous effectiveness, they weren't going to break us up. However, we were ordered to fix our issues. We were sent to a safe house for four or five days and were told that during that time we would be free to use whatever measures we needed to work things out. To further that end, there was to be no surveillance of any type while we were there. They didn't care what we did as long as we figured out how to get along well enough for the missions."

"Obviously, you worked things out."

"Yes," is her terse reply. When she goes on, her voice is quiet, almost apologetic, her eyes averted. "Chuck, I think you can guess how we did that. That's when we became a couple. I would be lying if I told you I did it solely for the job, for the sake of national security." For a moment she hesitates, then quietly says, "I liked him, even thought I loved him."

"Sarah, you don't have to explain. And you especially don't have to apologize."

"Yes, Chuck, I do. I need to do this."

She gathers her thoughts before saying, "The life we had together was thrilling, glamorous. Bryce was exciting and charming." She glances quickly at his face, not sure what his reaction will be to this admission. After all, she has never really told him how she used to feel about Bryce. To her immense relief and pleasure, there's no anger, no jealousy, no hurt in his eyes. Just patient attention and interest.

"For the first time in my life, I felt I was truly happy, fulfilled. We worked so well together, played so well together that I believed that, with him, I could now have the life I'd always wanted."

Here she pauses. "And there were vague stirrings of something more, somewhere down the road. Only now do I realize that I was thinking about the possibility of a home…a family."

Sarah again looks closely at his face, trying to see if she has hurt him. She knows how much this means to him, to them. She's a little ashamed to admit she had ever even thought of having this with someone else.

"The truth is, Chuck, I didn't recognize those feelings for what they actually were. There were just a longing I couldn't put into words or thoughts. Until you helped me understand them."

She kisses him quickly. "And I thank you so much."

He answers solemnly, "You're very welcome." He says nothing else, knowing she has more to add.

"However, even before the whole mess happened that led me to you," she looks in his eyes and smiles, "I could tell there was something missing, a piece that wasn't there. I finally saw that all the charm, the excitement, the glamor had hidden the truth from me, had hidden the real Bryce Larkin from me.

"I came to realize that I was telling my heart I loved him, rather than my heart telling me. When I finally saw him, really saw him, I was angry. So angry. I thought, 'How can you make me want so much and at the same time be the wrong man to make it happen?' I felt betrayed. Cheated of the future I'd so foolishly visualized.

"So, when I came here, I was determined to make sure that didn't happen again. Not let anyone dangle hope before me and then snatch it away."

Nodding his head, he quietly says, "I can understand that. Thank you for telling me. Now I know at least part of why you were so reluctant at first. About you and me."

She nods back. "Yes. I was hesitant. Afraid."

He can see in her eyes the fleeting remembrance of a different time, a different Sarah.

But then, smiling, she says, "But you, Chuck Bartowski, have a way of getting under a person's skin. Your goofy smile, your dumb jokes," she feels him chuckle at this, as she continues in a more serious tone, "your kindness, your patience, your understanding…your love, eventually wore me down. I started to hope again. Trust again."

"I guess I'm just irresistible."

She earnestly replies, "Yes, you are.

"Chuck, I have a little secret to confess." She goes on, feeling a little embarrassed, "Long before Vegas, I had started thinking of you as adorable."

He laughs. "You mean like a basketful of kittens or something?"

She grins at him. "Don't laugh. It was a big thing for me. I don't believe I'd ever used that word before I met you."

"Well, Sarah, I'm glad I was able to help you expand your vocabulary."

"You did help, more than you know. You made me see that by adorable I really meant lovable. And love had never truly been part of my vocabulary either." Pausing, she brings her gaze to his. "Until I met you."

Chuck had fought to keep his emotions in check during her whole confession, but at this, a few tears began to leak out. Not that he was alone in this. Or would be alone again in anything. Ever.

He continues to be astonished by her. He's mortified, ashamed to admit that he'd ever, even for a second, thought that she really was what she so often portrays to the world: cold, emotionally detached, ruthlessly efficient.

Each day with her makes it clear just how immensely privileged he is, that of all the people in the world, he's the one she chose. The one to whom she reveals her real self, that secret person of the heart. There's a renewal of his determination to make sure he never takes this for granted, that he never disrespects this amazing gift she has given him.

He gives her a soft, quick kiss. "Sarah, honey, I know Bryce was a big part of your life. I don't think I can truly express how much it means to me that you're comfortable enough to tell me about the two of you. I thank you so much for trusting me with this.

"At one time, I would have been jealous, envious. But I would have been wrong to be that way then and even more so now. Much more so. For me to be jealous over things that happened before we even met would be the height of selfishness and insensitivity. Sarah, you have nothing to apologize for, and I don't want you to ever again think that you do."

He reaches down and touches her left hand, the arm draped over his stomach, the ring she wears only when they're together evident. "All I care about is what this ring represents. You and me. Together. Now. Our future."

By this time her head is resting on his chest. Then her arms move around him, clutching him tightly. He can feel her tears sliding down his torso, wetting the sheet. He tightens his arms around her as more of his own tears come, his face buried in her hair.

A few minutes later, with a small sniffle, she asks, "So, do you understand why I think we should fail this test?"

He clears his throat, then replies, "You believe that if we fail this mission by pretending we aren't getting along, they may do the same with us as they did with you and Bryce. Right?"

She nods gratified he has gotten it. "We've both been so unhappy with the current state of affairs, and this way we would at least get the honeymoon we didn't have. Also, I'm fairly certain Beckman will order us to expand our cover situations in some way or other, to further convince people we're a couple. The good part is that no matter what happens, we wouldn't be blowing an actual mission, unlike Bryce and me."

"But, Sarah, what if they simply decide to break up the team instead?"

She can hear the note of panic in his voice.

She looks into his eyes again, reassuringly says, "Chuck, I wouldn't suggest this if I thought there was any chance of that happening. We have been so incredibly effective since we've been together that Beckman will want to do everything possible to make sure we remain a team."

He looks somewhat relieved but still persists. "But what if, for some reason we don't know about, she decides to break us up?"

"Then we run."

This succinct, calmly stated promise does more to quell his fears than any of her previous words. He's willing to try this, almost anything, as long as he knows she'll be with him.

He returns her gaze and nods firmly. "OK, let's do it."

She nods in turn, pleased to see his confidence and trust in her.

"Sarah, correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems that over the next two weeks we're going to have to set this up by showing Beckman and Casey, especially Casey, that we're having trouble getting along. Is that right?"

"Yes. If our blowup comes out of the blue they might be suspicious, so we need to display some gradually escalating issues. I feel we should start as soon as possible."

Nodding thoughtfully, he says, "I believe the best approach would be that you feel I'm pushing the envelope of our cover relationship. Perhaps now that we've posed as husband and wife, I thought we could have a real relationship. On the other hand, I will act like you're getting a little full of yourself as all I want is to be friends."

"I agree. That would be a good way to go." She ponders for a moment. "I'll have to show everyone that you're out of line and your attentions are irritating me."

"Sounds good. However, I do think you're going to have a problem carrying that off." He says this a little smugly.

"And why, pray tell, would I have any difficulty in doing that, Mr. Bartowski?"

"I'm so adorable, I suspect you'll have trouble even pretending to be mad at me."

As she swatted playfully at him, the sheet slipped down once again.

This time, Chuck didn't object.

 **TBC**

 _A/N: Wow! Two Charah heavy chapters in a row. Hope I didn't overload you with all the goodness. :)_

 _For new readers big surprise next two chapters. For those who are here for the second time, some (hopefully) pleasant memories._


	7. Gotcha

_A/N: Short one this time. Brings us back to the present timeline where the rest of this story will basically stay._

 _Small error in the A/N of the previous chapter: The surprises start next chapter, not this one. This one is nothing but complete and utter fluff. I can offer no plausible excuse for its content._

 _Thanks again to my beta, michaelfmx. Any little errors you run across in any of the chapters are my responsibility._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 6-Gotcha**

 **Maison 23, June 16** **th** **, 1007 Hours**

"No. I must admit, Mrs. Bartowski, the results have exceeded my expectations by a mile."

Neither is able to contain their joy over the unexpected outcome. Laughing between kisses, she stays wrapped around him.

Sarah chuckles. "I'm very glad that lady in the elevator wasn't at the briefing. This thing would have fallen apart if she had been."

Chuck nods. "How do you think she knew?"

"Come on, it's so obvious that you're completely smitten with me, I suspect anyone with an ounce of sense can see it."

"Me?! You're the one making goo goo eyes all the time. It's positively embarrassing."

"I don't make goo goo eyes!"

"Sure you don't. If it's not goo goos, it's bedroom eyes. Have you no self-control, woman?"

"Keep talking like that and tonight I'll self-control myself right into some flannel pajamas." She leans back a little, raises one eyebrow and archly asks, "Is that what you really want, sweetie?"

With a contrite look, he replies, "Come to think of it, it was obviously me who gave us away."

"I thought you might see it that way."

Sarah, still feeling mischievous, realizes she has a further opportunity to mess with him. Considering she still has her arms around his neck and her legs about his waist, his arms are in the most natural position to support her.

She looks down, over her shoulder, then gives him a mock glare. "Mr. Bartowski, is that really an appropriate place for your hands?"

He's so open that she can read his face clearly. First of all puzzlement. Then embarrassment as he realizes what she means. She'd wager good money that, in his mind, he's just used the word 'posterior'.

He hurriedly starts to let her down, but she stops him with a kiss, then whispers in his ear, "Don't worry. I really don't mind. In fact, I kinda like it."

When she pulls her head back, she sees he's blushing furiously. Just as expected.

She's beginning to understand why she gets so much pleasure in teasing him. It's most likely because the men she has known for her job (and most of those in her personal life as well) have never been this way around her.

Those men were confident, assured, convinced that their looks, their money, their power, entitled them to whomever or whatever they wanted. They would never blush at anything. Anything she did or said as part of her character was simply accepted as what was rightfully due to them.

Sarah has no real idea of how many times she's had to play the part of a woman "honored" by such men. How often she has pretended to be pleased, thrilled by their words, looks and touches, knowing all the while their one goal.

(She does remember how it pleased her when she was able to use that very egotism to obtain what she needed from them. She also recalls, with pleasure, the look on their faces when she would always find a way to extricate herself before the situation got out of hand.)

Chuck is so different. His openness, his honesty, his humility, his transparent affection, would in the eyes of those other men, make him weak, vulnerable. But in reality, it's these "character flaws" that make him so much stronger, better than they are. Not one of them on his best day is half the man Chuck is on his worst. No, not even close.

When she teases him, she is reminded by his reactions just how good a man he really is. How fortunate she is to have the love of someone like him.

Aside from all this, it's a hell of a lotta fun. He's so damn cute every time she gets him.

However, she has noticed it's becoming a little harder to do so. She supposes that even the degree of married life they do have has allowed him to get used to at least some of her ploys. That makes this one all the more enjoyable.

She can see by his expression that he's heard the unspoken "gotcha".

"Sarah, one of these days I'm going to return the favor. Some time when you least expect it."

"Fat chance of that, Bartowski." Removing one hand from around his neck, she points at herself. "Professional spy, remember? I always know what's coming. You can't sneak anything up on me."

"You're on. Just wait."

He gives her a quick kiss and then finally does let her stand on her own.

"By the way, Sarah, did you think it was really necessary to carry on the act even in the car?"

"Probably not, but I wasn't taking any chances. The only place I know that's completely secure is right here. We've gotten so much more than expected that I wasn't going to ruin it by something they might possibly overhear. I'll check the car before we leave. I also have some handy devices which will make sure Beckman is telling us the truth about the place we're going."

"Do you believe she's lying about the surveillance?'

"No, but you can't be too paranoid."

"Another spy maxim?"

"Yep." She pecks his lips, then pats his cheek. "Smart boy."

"I should start packing my things. Come and help me choose what I should take."

He follows her to the walk-in closet, a place he's never been before. He stops for a second, dumbfounded. "I had no idea you had so many clothes! It's no wonder I never seem to see you twice in the same outfit." He walks to the end of the closet and back, trying to comprehend the huge variety of style and color.

She smiles at his amazement. "The CIA is very generous with our clothing allowance, especially for the female agents. Never know what we might need for a mission."

He looks at her shoe rack. "What have you got there, fifty pairs?"

"Sixty-three to be precise."

He shakes his head. "I've got like five, six pairs."

"Well, I like your Chucks with almost everything you wear, so you really don't need much else. I, on the other hand, have outfits that need to match."

"Well, well, even Sarah Wal…" seeing her look, he corrects himself, "…Bartowski can sometimes be a girly girl. Who'd have thunk it?"

"I never seem to hear any complaints when I dress up for you."

"And you never will. But you're just as beautiful to me in jeans and a sweatshirt."

She gives him a quick peck and smiling, says, "You really know how to charm a girl, don't you?"

"Only the one I'm married to."

That earns him a deeper kiss.

"OK, what should I take?" She thinks out loud, walking back and forth. She starts pulling clothes out and holding them in front of her, asking his opinion.

After everything she shows him earns his enthusiastic approval, she gives him an exasperated look. "Chuck, you're no help at all! How am I supposed to choose when every piece I show you is, 'Fantastic' or 'Incredible' or 'Amazing'?"

"The problem is that you're just way too attractive. If you can find some way of toning that down a notch or two, I might find a couple of the items less than stellar."

He smacks himself in the forehead. "That's the word I was searching for!" He looks at her and says, "That blue cocktail dress was stellar."

She just smiles and shakes her head.

"Whatever you take, I'll like. One request, though. Could you please pack the red dress you wore at Von Hayes' party? I know it may mean breaking the never-wear-the same-thing-twice rule, but I think you look spectacular in it. And I know I haven't used spectacular to describe anything else today."

Laughing, she says, "OK. I will, for you. But I wouldn't do it for just anyone."

And as she says this, she knows she really means it. She finds it hard to refuse him anything. Even when it's for his own safety, it pains her a little to say no.

"Thank you. When you wear it to that 'to be specified social function', I'm certain you will be the most beautiful woman there once again."

That earns him yet another kiss.

"As for the time between now and then, I believe I've solved your 'What should I take?' dilemma."

He walks over to the far end of the closet and removes one of the items hanging there.

When he turns, she sees that he's holding a sheer, black, three-piece lingerie set.

There's a slightly lascivious, smoldering look in his eyes as he confidently says, "Since this is effectively going to be our honeymoon, I don't believe you're going to need more than this."

Sarah, a little shocked, a little flustered, a little thrilled by his uncharacteristic boldness, can't stop herself from blushing. She's not even sure how to react.

He takes a few steps closer until his face is only inches from hers.

His eyes close and she follows suit as he bridges the last remaining distance.

Sarah can suddenly feel her pulse pounding a little faster.

Just when their lips are about to touch, she hears him say softly, "Sarah."

"Yes, Chuck?" she replies a little breathlessly.

"Gotcha."

"What?!" Her eyes snap open and she sees a huge grin explode onto his face.

"You, you..." she stammers. "You're gonna pay for that!"

A few moments later, he's laughing, fleeing the area, expertly aimed shoes bouncing off his back and arm covered head.

Fortunately, he's safely out of range before she is able to grab any of her stiletto heels.

 **TBC**

 _A/N: Some surprises the next two chapters. Pssst! If you already read ahead don't tell anyone_ **.**


	8. The Major

_A/N: We delve into the devious mind of John Casey. Scary? Let's find out._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 7-The Major**

 **Castle, June 16** **th** **, 1033 Hours**

John Casey is sitting in the armory, mechanically going through the motions of reassembling his custom SIG-Sauer P229. The smell of gun oil is in the air, something that Casey often likens in his thoughts to the smell of freedom.

Today, though, his mind is elsewhere.

Everything went far better today than he had expected. When he had started to implement his plan, he didn't realistically believe the results would be this close to the ideal.

Fooling all three of them had been a delicate task. And John Casey is well aware that he isn't the dictionary definition of delicate.

Right from the formation of this highly unconventional team, he had seen the potential for trouble. At first, he really he didn't care if that led to a dictated breakup. Walker was a loose cannon, not the kind of agent he liked working with. And Bartowski, well, he was just a moron. A very irritating moron.

But very quickly, his opinion had changed. Success followed success. The lives of hundreds of American citizens were saved. Lots of bad guys were put out of circulation.

When he saw these kinds of results, he knew this group needed to stay together, for the good of the country.

But something else happened as well, something unexpected. They'd become his friends, without him being truly aware it was even happening. And one thing John Casey didn't have a lot of, was friends.

Of course, he didn't tell either of them that. Expressing "lady feelings" was to be left to others.

Even though Walker could still push his buttons, he came to realize he'd never had a better partner. He knew she would always have his back, no matter what. She was often infuriatingly stubborn but, in all fairness, he knew he was the same. Sometimes that led to tense situations, where neither would back down. But after a rocky start, they'd always found their way.

Bartowski still irritated the hell out of him sometimes. Even so, he appreciated how well the kid had dealt with the situation he had been forced into. With almost no training, this self-proclaimed coward had saved both Casey's and Walker's lives more times than he could remember. And in his own, often weird, unorthodox way, his contributions had enabled them to accomplish things beyond the even most optimistic expectations.

So Casey had good reason to keep the team together. But it was easy to see how events could transpire that would lead to that opposite, undesirable outcome.

Right off the bat, he could see that the asset had fallen for his handler. She's blond, exciting, tall, intelligent, and beautiful. Pretty much every nerd's dream. Also the type of woman that normally wouldn't give a guy like him a second look. So it was no surprise that when they were thrown together, often in somewhat intimate cover or work situations, the kid would develop strong feelings for her.

Casey knew that his superiors would have no real problem with this. For all he knew, she may have been instructed to make sure this happened. To make sure the Intersect cooperated. Very early on, however, Casey realized that if she had been told to do this, she'd disobeyed her orders. He knew that if she'd put her mind to it, she could have seduced him in five minutes.

But she hadn't and he knows why. It's because against all the rules, and even, he's fairly certain, against her own initial inclinations, she's fallen in love with Chuck Bartowski.

And this is the problem. The one that worries him.

Casey is almost positive she had no conscious idea of what had happened to her. That she'd hidden her feelings, even from herself, under the guise of duty or obligation.

However, when you spend as much time together as this team does, you'd have to be blind to miss the signs. And Casey is definitely not that. Even if those signs had been few and far between at first, he'd noticed. And he'd also noticed when they started to happen much more often.

He'd watched her face as Bartowski would come into the room, saw the light in her eyes, the way she looked at him when she thought he didn't notice.

He'd seen how she let her touch linger as she adjusted Chuck's tie. He'd witnessed her constant concern for his well-being, her fretting over even minor scrapes and bruises he picked up during the missions. He'd come to see that she was a softer, kinder, happier person when Chuck was near and how that started to fade, at least a little, when he wasn't around for a while.

It was coming to the point that Casey was worried that Beckman would catch on, that she would see that Walker was, in fact, compromised.

He knew where that would lead. Come hell or high water, John Casey was determined to do everything he could to prevent it.

He'd gone so far as to subtly editing the surveillance videos, eliminating or at least minimizing, anything that could reveal the true state of Walker's real feelings toward the asset. In his reports, verbal and written, he'd consistently but carefully emphasized Walker's commitment to the job. Had glossed over anything potentially compromising.

And he'd done a good job over the past months. He was certain Beckman had no real idea of what was really going on. Things were going smoothly.

But then came the mission to Las Vegas.

…

When Walker was hit, he'd been amazed how quickly the kid had reacted. And he'd also been amazed by his courage.

Never leave a man behind. He'd been damned proud of him.

Then, of course, the moron had needlessly exposed himself to enemy fire. It was a miracle he hadn't been killed. He still didn't quite understand why no one shot at the idiot.

Even though he'd later berated him for his poor aim, he was secretly glad that Bartowski hadn't hit anyone. He wasn't cut out for what went along with that.

Later that night, Casey had decided he'd earned a Scotch. Rather than calling room service, he decided to take a little walk to the liquor store he'd seen down the block. Just as he was returning to the hotel he'd seen Walker and Bartowski walk hand in hand to her Porsche and drive away.

Except in cover situations, he'd never seen them holding hands, so he knew something was up. He always had his keys, so was able to quickly get behind the wheel of the Crown Vic and follow them as they left the parking lot. As soon as he'd seen where they'd stopped, he knew it was big trouble.

Through his binoculars, he'd seen their intimate conversation, their kiss, the kid down on one knee. It was obvious what was about to happen.

For a moment, he'd been tempted to rush in and stop them. To make them understand how much they were risking with this rash, impetuous act. But he hadn't, because he'd quickly realized it was neither rash nor impetuous.

It would only seem such to someone who didn't know them so well. Who hadn't spent months in close contact with them. Who hadn't seen them in situations, which while occasionally revealing their ignominious imperfections, much more often showed their sublime strengths. It would only seem such to someone who didn't know how much these two somewhat broken, damaged people truly loved each other. Needed each other.

And John Casey did know all this. He may not have articulated these exact words in his mind, but certainly knew it in his heart, the heart that most wouldn't have thought he possessed.

So he'd let them go through with it, even though he knew there'd be all sorts of hell to pay if Beckman ever found out.

Casey had almost started to regret this decision until he saw them exit the wedding chapel. He had taken her in his arms, and spun her exuberantly, laughingly, ecstatically. The look of pure, unadulterated joy on their faces at that moment is something Casey knew then he would never forget.

Although he would never let on, it was then he started to think of them more often as Chuck and Sarah, rather than Bartowski and Walker.

From then on, he'd known he would have to work even harder to protect them from Beckman's scrutiny, as it was now much more likely that they would somehow give themselves away. Their natural desire to be with each other, to express affection, might somehow become evident despite their best efforts.

As Casey had driven back to the hotel, he'd been glad he had the unopened bottle of Scotch. This was more than a one-drink problem.

…

From the day they returned to Burbank, Casey had worked on his plan. He'd thought long and hard about how he could help them spend as much time together without arousing any suspicions.

When there were minor matters that need attending to away from Castle, he'd always tried to find a legitimate reason to stay at the base and allow the two of them to go on the job alone.

A couple of times, with extreme care and tact, he'd supported Sarah's apparently reluctant observations that she and Mr. Bartowski needed to have more opportunities to reinforce their cover.

Casey had to admit that the couple's performance had been very convincing. While he could see their feelings expressed in so many little ways, he was sure that to others they appeared simply as colleagues.

When the Von Hayes situation had developed, Casey had taken great joy in seeing Larkin demoted to a secondary role. Alongside Sarah, he'd strenuously argued for Chuck to take the role of the husband instead. This really made much more sense than the original mission plan. Beckman had agreed.

Of course, this had allowed the two to have a great night together. Not only at the party but also later, as Beckman had also agreed this would be a very good time to add some strength to their cover.

The added benefit was that it had annoyed the hell out of Larkin. In Casey's books, that was a gold star.

All of this had been well and good, but Casey kept looking for the opportunity to carry it further. That opportunity had come along right after the Von Hayes party.

Up, as usual, at 0530, Casey had received a private video call from the General only five minutes later. She obviously knew his routine.

"Major Casey. Both Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski did an excellent job last night."

"Yes, Ma'am. I fully agree." He'd replied while wondering where this was going.

"However, they are relatively new to this, portraying themselves as a couple, I feel they should be more thoroughly evaluated. Perhaps this was just a fluke."

He didn't agree, but wisely said nothing and waited for her to go on.

"I have therefore arranged for a 38-A."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with that, General," Casey had admitted.

"Don't feel bad, Major. It's not a protocol we use with any frequency. I'm sending you a brief synopsis. I'll wait while you read it."

It was only a page long, so Casey had quickly returned his attention to the General.

"I see, Ma'am. Am I correct in understanding that you'll use this occasion to test them, to evaluate their performance when things don't go according to plan?"

"Yes Major, that is correct. How do you feel about the idea?"

Casey had, at first, thought the whole idea a waste of time and resources. Given what he knew, Chuck and Sarah would easily pass this test. But as he was about to respond to her question, he was struck by the germ of a bold, possibly crazy idea. One that could lead to very good things for his partners. So his response had changed to one of agreement.

"Good, Major. I'm sending you the operation plan. The DEA has kindly allowed us the use of one of their safe houses, so the information about that location will be included. I'll bring the operation up at this morning's briefing. You'll need, of course, to pretend you know nothing about the 38-A."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"We'll speak again at 0830. Beckman out."

Casey had been left staring at the seal on the screen, his mind going. He had less than three hours to set this thing up.

The first thing Casey had done was to reread Sarah's file. He'd quickly found the section he was looking for, the one that he'd vaguely remembered. The part where Walker and Larkin had blown an op and how it was subsequently handled. He'd just hoped she remembered it as well or this whole thing was going nowhere.

The next step, he'd known, would be to somehow have Chuck "inadvertently" see the info on the safe house.

If they could put two and two together, the last step would be to carefully convince Beckman as to the best course to take.

Casey had realized that all he could do was get the ball rolling and hope it rolled the direction he wanted. And today, it had.

And, because he was alone and not in range of any of the cameras, he smiles.

 _Enjoy your wedding present, guys._

 **TBC**

 **-** _A/N: That wasn't so bad, was it? Next chapter we go into the mind of another of our players._


	9. The General

_A/N: Another short one. But given the character being portrayed, it seemed appropriate._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 8-The General**

 **General Beckman's Office. June 16** **th** **, 1337 Hours (Local Time)**

Diane Beckman is smiling, something that she doesn't do all that often, especially when she's at her desk. However, she's by herself right now and today has been a great day, so she isn't holding back.

Her plan had gone according to...well, plan.

She actually finds it quite amusing that the three of them believed they've pulled the wool over her eyes.

After that mission in Las Vegas, it had been so obvious that Chuck and Sarah (as she referred to them in her private thoughts) had committed to each other in some way. She thought it even possible that they'd run off and gotten secretly married.

Diane hadn't been surprised at all. She'd seen the signs brewing for months.

The one thing that did surprise her was how long it took Sarah to see them herself.

The General knows she's required to live by the rules and regulations. That her obligation is to take notice of this situation and deal with it appropriately. But she didn't then and she's not going to do it now.

The truth is that Diane has developed a strong, unforeseen affinity for this group.

She had known John (again, only in her private thoughts) for some time before the formation of the team and has always appreciated his steadfast loyalty and patriotism. She had respected him but hadn't really liked him.

That is, until now.

His transparent (at least to her) efforts to protect his teammates, his friends, from their own actions, had changed her feelings toward the man. For perhaps the first time in his life, he let his personal feelings of loyalty override his rigid sense of duty. And he is a better man, a more likable person, because of that.

She had, of course, known of Sarah Walker prior to this assignment. Pretty much everyone in the intelligence community did.

What Diane had initially seen of her had done nothing to change her preconceived opinion of the agent. She was brilliant, overwhelmingly competent, almost chameleon-like in the roles she assumed. Her virtually spotless service record backed up the anecdotal evidence of her cold-blooded effectiveness, fierce dedication and whole-souled commitment to putting the greater good ahead of her own personal needs.

The General had been very happy to have her on the team, but Diane had disliked her from the moment they met.

She's honest enough to recognize that some of that dislike stemmed from petty jealousy. Sarah, is after all, tall, young, blond and beautiful. Pretty much the antithesis of Diane Beckman. (Although, she does remember being blond in Berlin back in 1989.)

However, the rest of it was from the way Sarah had come across. She'd seemed determined to prove that she was the best of the best. To not let anyone or anything stand in her way. And apparently, that included not letting anyone get close to her, to distract her from her chosen path. Shutting off or at least minimizing what would be normal amounts of compassion and empathy.

However, it was only a few months in when she saw a different side of Sarah. Chuck had suffered a minor head wound during a data retrieval mission. During the following debriefing, she could clearly see the concern Sarah showed. She had sat much nearer to Chuck than she normally would have. Had asked at least twice if he was OK. And when she had seen the wince after an incautious head movement, without being prompted, had brought a glass of water and some painkillers. She'd even gone so far as to ask if the debriefing could be cut a little short so Chuck could go home and get some rest.

Diane hadn't let on she noticed anything odd but rather simply agreed to the request.

From then on it had become more and more apparent that Sarah Walker was changing, or perhaps more accurately, revealing who she truly was, who she could be. While still very good at her job, Beckman could see she was, at least in some ways, kinder, softer, more aware of the needs of other people.

Diane Beckman came to understand that the Sarah Walker whom she first knew was a well-cultivated façade, a façade so strongly developed that even Sarah believed it to be real.

And, as for the woman who'd emerged, Diane liked her very much.

That leaves, of course, Chuck Bartowski. The unlikely catalyst behind the changes in two of the best agents in the business.

At first, Beckman thought that someone up there really hated her. To have to work with this bumbling fool, this irritating moron, was almost more than she could bear. So often, just the thought of dealing with another one of his messes had made her sigh heavily before reluctantly activating their video conference.

Then she'd started to take real notice of how successful the team was, due in no small part to Chuck's unorthodox methods. Even though she would often wince over the series of events that lead to their successes, that didn't detract from the fact they were the most effective team she had.

Chuck is the binding force, the improbable glue, that made them such. They weren't just colleagues, they were friends. Each brought their own unique strengths. Strengths they used to unselfishly compensate for the other's unique weaknesses

What it was in Chuck that had awakened this response in Sarah and John, she wasn't quite sure. Perhaps they had been so used to dealing with cunning, callous and cruel individuals, that Chuck was a breath of fresh air. So different from those that would stab them in the back, either literally or professionally. In so many ways, he's innocent, almost naive. A reminder of how good people can truly be. Perhaps a reminder of how good _they_ themselves can be. A reminder of why they were doing this whole thing in the first place.

Diane Beckman has to admit that even she's fallen a little under his spell. So, despite him often being a massive pain, she's come to care for Chuck Bartowski.

It suddenly hits her that she's old enough to be the mother of the two younger team members. It frightens her for a moment, drives home the point that she's no longer young herself.

She wonders if she made the right choice, forgoing family for country. Is there some long dormant maternal instinct at work in her? Driving her to do her best to make sure Chuck and Sarah can have what she never did? She's not certain of all that motivates her, but that has no effect on her determination to carry through with the rest of her plan.

It was clear how frustrated the two of them were, being unable to freely express their feelings. She could see how much they needed each other.

Of course, she couldn't openly acknowledge this. Knowing her limits, she had set up the evaluation mission with the express intent of creating the circumstances that would officially condone them spending more time together.

First of all, she'd had to depend on John to recognize the opportunity being presented. The man is much more intelligent than his gruff exterior tended to indicate. She'd known that confidence wasn't misplaced when she'd seen him abruptly change his mind about the test mission.

It was almost as if a light bulb popped up over this head. She'd had to work hard to stop her smile.

Diane, of course, had known about the Bryce and Sarah's blown mission and its aftermath. She had counted on John to know as well and use it to set everything in motion. She had also counted on the smarts of Sarah and Chuck. Counted on them to seize the opportunity.

Diane had known how she would handle a similar situation, given the need. So, when she saw the escalating tension between the two, she wasn't surprised at all.

Who did they think they were fooling? She'd been playing the game when the two of them were still in grade school.

When everything had gone pretty much as she thought it would, she'd let herself be reluctantly persuaded to give the two of them the chance to fix things.

Now that General Beckman had ordered the two to act like a couple in all public situations, it would be easier for her to ignore any apparent breaches in protocol.

After all, they were just doing what they were told, weren't they?

She thought the touch of having them move in together was a good one. It seemed a plausible consequence for their actions. And it would obviously remove the need for remote surveillance. No sense wasting government resources.

Down the road, perhaps in five or six months, she would find a way to suddenly "discover" Chuck and Sarah's real relationship. Then after a period of outrage on her part, she would legitimize their situation by making Chuck a Special Analyst for the team.

All the while, she would, of course, indicate she was only doing so because they had done so much good for the country. That part is actually true. But Diane also knows they wouldn't be nearly so effective if the team dynamics weren't there. If Chuck and Sarah weren't together.

She's just happy that her duty can, for once, mesh so well with her personal desires.

 **TBC**

 _A/N: It seems everyone loves our favorite couple. So, back to them next chapter._


	10. Beguiling

_A/N: While understanding why they needed to do so, I always found myself bothered by the fact we never got to see anything of Chuck and Sarah's honeymoon. No chance to see them spending time together just being in love and having fun. Basically went right from the wedding back to the Buy More._

 _With that in mind, the rest of this story will, at least in some ways, be my small effort to rectify that omission, even though the circumstances are clearly different._

 _Lots of Charah, but eventually a return to and a resolution of some of the issues brought up in the prologue._

 _Plus, after this chapter, it's all new. For those who've read this story before, I thank you for waiting patiently for the new stuff to start again._

 _A thank you to all who've been following along. As always, reviews are appreciated. Like to hear what you think of this tale._

 _Thanks again to michaelfmx for his excellent beta services._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 9-Beguiling**

 **Malibu Safe House, June 16th, 20:12 Hours.**

The waves are softly lapping at the beach below them. Sarah, as usual, is nestled closely against Chuck's side as they sit together on the oversized chaise lounge.

The view from the balcony of the safe house is fantastic. While drinking their wine, they'd comfortably, quietly watched the sun go down. The bluish afterglow in the sky is calm, peaceful, a contrast to the riotous oranges and reds of just a few minutes ago.

"Chuck, that chicken pepperoni was delicious. Where did you learn to cook?"

"Ellie taught me that one. She told me I had to know at least one dinner dish if I wanted to impress the girls."

"Well, it worked. I'm impressed."

"I'm happy to find out Ellie was right."

She looks up at him, surprised. "What? You never made it for anyone else?"

"Nope. You're the first girl who was worth the effort. The first one I thought would appreciate it. I don't slave over a hot stove for just anyone, you know."

Her face flushes at this, a tingle running through her. She likes the thought that this is something he's done only for her.

She is, however, curious. "Not even Jill?" The fact she even can ask this is a sign of their growing maturity, the acceptance of each other's past.

"Not even Jill."

"Why not?"

"Looking back, I'm not really certain. Somehow I got the vibe that she wouldn't think it was good enough. I just felt...inadequate."

Sarah is instantly furious. She hopes she never runs into Jill again because if she does, against Chuck's wishes, someone's going to wind up in the hospital and it's certainly not going to be herself.

But then, her rage subsides as she's suddenly reminded of her own past actions. She's a little afraid to ask. "Chuck, have I ever made you feel that way?"

He looks at her as if she's temporarily taken leave of her senses. "How could you ever think that?"

"When I was first sent here, I was hard on you, pushed you, was angry at you..."

"Sarah. Stop right there. Your motives were completely different. You were here to protect me, sometimes even from myself. When I did stupid things, I deserved your wrath. And yes, you were hard on me, but even then I knew I merited it. And knowing now what was behind it, how you felt, feel, about me, I understand the why.

He stops for a moment and kisses the top of her head. "As far as pushing me, it was only to help me realize I could be better. I could make a difference."

He angles himself so he can see her face. "So, when I did do something right, you encouraged me, praised me. You never made me feel that it still wasn't good enough."

He asks, kindly, "Sarah, do you believe me when I tell you that you're nothing like her?"

She nods, heart-warmed, her head again against his chest.

"As far as any feelings of inadequacy, me and the other 99.9% of the world are in the same boat there. You're the most incredible, extraordinary person I know, so I am bound to feel a little inferior sometimes. However, that's my issue. Not your fault."

Sarah sits up straighter and takes his face in her hands. "Chuck, you don't realize how extraordinary _you_ are." He starts to shake his head as if to deny her words.

"Stop. You are, and I'll keep on telling you this until you believe it. I'm the one who feels inadequate when I see how good you are at the really important things. Friends. Family. Love. You've taught me so much, and I'm eternally in your debt, Chuck Bartowski."

He looks into her eyes, a hint of wetness in his. "Well, I guess we're just two extraordinary people, aren't we?"

She nods, tearfully, and just before they kiss, she says, "Yep, that we are."

A few minutes later, Sarah is wrapped firmly in his arms, her head on his chest, her arms about his torso.

"Sarah, where do we go from here?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do we act when we're on missions, at Castle?"

"Well, unless the mission calls for something different, we act as colleagues. We support each other and basically do what we've always done. You'll need to listen to me and follow my direction.

"When this week is over, we'll have to show them we've come to a somewhat grudging, mutual understanding. However, in Castle, we need to make sure we don't display any overt signs of affection in front of Casey or Beckman. Or the cameras. Don't forget the cameras."

"That's going to be hard."

"Hard for me too. However, here's the good part. There will be missions where we'll be a couple, so affection will need to be shown. You OK with that?" She asks, the smirk evident in her voice.

"I guess I can muddle through."

"And we've been ordered to be affectionate in all public situations, so I also guess you're good with that."

She can feel his enthusiastic nod.

"And the best part is that we've been ordered to live together, with no one watching. That means plenty of private affection."

"That's the part the floors me. It's almost as if she was granting us a wish. Aside from being completely open, that's the best we could have hoped for."

"I agree. But as good as this is going to be, down the road we're going to find a way to shed _all_ the pretense. Everyone will know just how truly happy you've made me. We just have to be patient."

"I've got no problem with that, especially since Ellie, Devon and Morgan will see we're together, that we're happy. Even though we can't tell them everything yet, it makes me feel good that we're not lying, that this isn't a cover. And I know they'll understand about the elopement thing later."

They sit quietly for a few minutes, watching the waves break on the shore.

Chuck turns his body towards her's, and breaks the silence. "Sarah, there's something I forgot to ask earlier. What did Beckman say to you when Casey and I left the briefing room?"

Even in the faint light, Chuck can see she's blushing a bit, apparently a little uncomfortable.

She's silent for a few seconds more. "Well, after chewing me out, she ordered me to do whatever was needed to make sure you cooperated. Even if I was personally uncomfortable with the actions needed."

"Seduction?"

"Yes. But you know that I would have never followed through on that. Even if our situation was different than it is."

"Yes, Sarah, I do know." Giving her a cheeky grin, he goes on, "But given that we're pretending to follow her directions, I really feel you should obey your orders. In fact, I insist."

She blurts out, "But I really don't need to-" then abruptly cuts herself off.

With an affronted expression, he says, "Sarah Bartowski. Are you saying you don't even have to make an effort in order to have your way with me? Are you implying that your husband," he gasps theatrically, "is easy?"

She's fighting a smile as she looks at him, "Sweetie, I almost hate to say it, but the truth is, you kinda are."

"Well, I never-"

She jumps in. "I beg to differ!"

Working very hard to control his laughter, he manages to say, "I'll have you know, Missy, I am immune to your feminine wiles."

"Chuck, for pity's sake, two hours ago you couldn't keep your hands off me when I was buttoning _up_ my blouse."

"Can I help it if you're a beguiling buttoner?" He looks thoughtful. "Or should it be Buttonitrix? Buttonress? Bu-"

She leans in and stops his rambling with a quick kiss. "If memory serves, it appears I'm also beguiling when," she starts counting on her fingers, "flossing. Taking out the trash. Eating scrambled eggs. Typing. Scratching my forehead."

She looks at him, head tilted to one side. "Shall I go on, sweetie, or are you _starting_ to sense a pattern here?"

"Nonsense! That is clearly all part of your fevered imagination. I understand that women who are madly in love sometimes have trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality."

Sarah just shakes her head indulgently. Sometimes, he can be such an idiot.

But he's _her_ idiot, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Before we adjourn to our nuptial chamber, ( _she figures he's started reading the Jane Austen novel she lent him_ ) I expect you to pull out all the stops. Nothing less than the complete seduction package."

He tries to look stern as he says this, arms folded in front of his chest.

Without a word, Sarah stands up and smiling that little smile, the one reserved just for him, simply holds out her hand.

With no conscious thought, he's standing, accepting her offer. For the briefest of moments, Chuck wonders if he'll ever have the needed willpower to resist those eyes, that smile…her.

 _Hold on. Why on earth would I ever want to do that? Why would I ever want to say no to this incredible woman?_

Chuck has a sudden realization of how this life is so far from the traditional, normal one he had always envisaged having.

Here he is, married to the most beautiful, amazing woman in the whole world, a woman he loves more than life itself. And against all the odds, seemingly even against logic, she loves him right back.

That she's a CIA spy and he has this massive database in his head, doesn't even seem strange anymore. The fact that they risk their lives on a regular basis has just become an accepted part of his life.

It doesn't even faze him (although it hurts his brain a little) that they've been ordered by the head of the NSA to find a way to make their secretly real, but outwardly fake relationship appear to be more real, so they can be more convincing in their fake relationship.

Which is actually real.

Chuck has come to understand that normalcy is relative. Being with her, even in the middle of all this craziness, is his new normal.

And it has never felt more right.

However, there is _one_ traditional thing he _can_ do. He releases her hand, bends quickly and with a surprisingly graceful move, scoops her effortlessly into his arms.

She lets out a high pitched, surprised, "Oh!" wrapping both arms around his neck.

"I believe the threshold awaits, milady."

Her delighted laughter continues until he brings his face closer and her lips become otherwise occupied.

 **TBC**

 _A/N: This is where the first version ended. On to the new stuff!_

 _PS I see my older stories getting a fair number of hits. If you would like to review any of them please be assured that I will notice them. Thank you._


	11. Alluring

_A/N: So, all new from here on in._ _Longer chapters coming up a_ _nd pretty much linear, (except Chapter 11)._

 _Don't own Chuck, etc._

 _Enjoy!_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 10-Alluring**

 **Malibu Safe House, June 19** **th** **, 0712 Hours.**

As he's done every morning for the past almost-three-months, the first thing Chuck does upon waking is take the time he needs to convince himself that he hasn't just imagined it all, that he is, in actuality, married to Sarah Walker (or rather, as she would insist, Sarah _Bartowski_.)

Admittedly, the past few days have made that much easier because he's been waking up beside her, something that, prior to their time here, had happened all too infrequently. In fact, only four times. There's no doubt in his mind about that number because waking up beside Sarah is something that is impossible to forget.

For the last three mornings, Chuck has roused himself from sleep before she does, just so he can look at her, to study every feature of her face. He's normally up only when he has to be, not really an early riser. But for the last few nights he's looked forward to these initial moments of the day with eager anticipation. The chance to see her when she's so unguarded is something he simply can't pass up.

It comes to him how actually sleeping with someone (not the euphemism) is such an act of trust. An expression of confidence that the person beside you would never do anything to harm you while you're in such a defenseless state. She's never specifically mentioned it, but he's quite certain she must have spent much of her life sleeping with one eye open, so to speak. But she doesn't do that anymore, at least not when he's beside her. He understands how difficult it must have been for her to make the transition from constant wariness to where she is now. That he's the recipient of such trust warms his heart.

This particular morning, she's lying on her back, softly snoring, (something he'll kid her about at an appropriate time) with no makeup, her hair tousled. And yet, she's beyond compare.

Propping his head up on his bent arm, looking down at her, he marvels, as always, that she chose him. He still can't fully grasp why she did, but he's certainly not going to let that stop him from treasuring every single moment they have together.

He knows, beyond a doubt, that she'll never voluntarily leave him. But he also understands the life they lead could, at any time, take her from him. He's thought about that possibility a few times, even tried to picture his reaction, his life afterwards. But he never succeeds, because he cannot truly visualize a life without her.

So he studies her, trying to burn all of her into his memory, so if that day comes (and in the unlikely case he didn't go down doing his best to save her) and he's unable to do anything else, he'll least be able to remember the incredible person she was. He knows it all sounds so maudlin, so melodramatic, but he can't stop his feelings.

However, that's not the only reason he does this.

There's so much about Sarah, what makes her _her,_ that remains unknown to him. He's done his best not to pry, instead letting her open up when she feels comfortable doing so. And she has to a degree, more than he would ever have thought possible at one time.

But he wants more, so he takes advantage of every opportunity that presents itself. This time of silent observation and contemplation being just one of them.

On the night they'd exchanged their vows, he'd also made a silent one with himself. A vow to do his absolute best to understand her, to anticipate her needs. To do all he could to give her the kind of life she deserves, even if she doesn't believe that to be true.

She deserves happiness. And she _has_ been happy, happier than he's ever seen her before, since that brief ceremony in the run-down wedding chapel, eighty-one days, (he glances at the alarm clock), seven hours and six minutes ago.

She stirs a bit and rolls over towards him. As she does, he once again notices the slight imperfection just above her left nostril and is suddenly transported back to their first night at the safe house.

In the course of his "exploring", he'd come across a barely visible scar on her right shoulder. He'd looked at her, eyebrow raised inquiringly.

Smiling, all she'd said was, "Pickaxe. Prague"

He'd tenderly kissed the scar. Sometime later, he'd noticed a very slight indentation in the muscle of her left calf.

Again, he'd silently asked and she'd answered with, "Car bomb. Cartagena."

He kissed that better too. A little later he'd felt, rather than seen, a slight puckering of the skin on her left hip.

This time, she'd answered without waiting for his non-verbal inquiry.

"AK-47. Afghanistan."

He'd applied his lips to this as well and then somewhat cheekily asked, "Are all your war wounds so alliterative?"

His wife had laughed at that. "No, but there was this lengthy mission in Lisbon where my lips were lacerated. I'm not entirely certain they've healed properly. Could you check on them for me?"

He'd needed no further urging. When he'd gently pulled back many minutes later, he'd seen that small circular mark on the left side of her nose. He'd applied his ministrations to the spot and then jokingly asked, "Icepick? Italy?"

She'd laughed again. "No, I had to infiltrate a Serbian skater gang who'd managed to get their hands on some neurotoxin that they were trying to sell to a terrorist group. I felt a nose ring would be an important part of my undercover persona."

Sarah had noticed the incredulous look on his face. "I know it sounds crazy, but a lot of dangerous stuff got forgotten when Yugoslavia broke up. They'd somehow managed to find it, many years later, in the ruins of a government research facility."

He'd shaken his head. "Strange as it sounds, I have no problem accepting that could happen. Which, by the way, just goes to show how truly weird our life is. No, what amazes me is that you can skateboard. At least, I assume you could. You weren't just some skater version of a biker chick, were you?"

She'd smirked. "Sure, like I'm going to ride along with my man on the back of his board. No, I could do a Fakie Beta Flip with the best of them."

As a youth, Chuck's lanky awkwardness had ruled out skateboarding as a survivable sport, so he'd only had a vague idea of what she was talking about. Whatever it was, though, he'd been certain she'd carried it off with her usual athletic grace.

"I'm sure you could. I don't know why I'm always surprised to find out things like this." He'd brought his face closer and very quietly said, "You know, you're quite amazing."

She'd shrugged her shoulders. "What can I say? I'm a woman of many talents."

"So, aside from skateboarding and the fortunate ability to dodge really serious injuries-", he'd paused. "They weren't serious, were they?" When she'd shaken her head, he'd continued, "So aside from those, what are some of your other talents that I should know about?"

At that, she'd leaned forward provocatively, bringing her mouth close to his ear. She'd whispered, rather sultrily, "I'm not really great with words. How about I just show you instead?"

He hadn't been able to articulate a single word in reply, but in a further testament to the improvement of Chuck's non-verbal communication skills, she'd sensed his assent and had, indeed, carried through on her offer.

His mind is still on the events that followed when he feels her stirring again, bringing him reluctantly back to the present. But not _too_ reluctantly. After all, the only thing better than looking at Sarah is seeing her look back at him. Especially with her private, only for him look.

But this was not to be, at least, not right now because she doesn't open her eyes as she asks in her slightly gravelly morning voice, "You're doing it again, aren't you?"

He tries to assume an innocent tone as he answers, "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't. You do know that there are those who might think that staring at someone while they're sleeping is a little creepy?"

"Would the person being stared at right now put herself amongst the 'those'?"

There's a small twitch of a quickly suppressed smile. She answers, "I should. But for reasons I can't quite figure out, it's kinda cute when you do it."

"Only 'kinda'? I seem to recall someone saying I'm 'quite adorable', which strikes me as being of a much higher level than 'kinda cute'."

She looks at him then, eyebrows raised, and says, somewhat dubiously, "I don't recall using the word 'quite' on that occasion."

A few seconds before he's able to reply, seeing how her gaze (as it customarily does) makes it suddenly hard to breathe. "It was implied in your tone of voice."

"Oh, I see. Are you sure you're not being just a little bit presumptuous there, Mr. Bartowski?"

"No, I don't think I am. And I also believe I know why you find it cute when I stare at you."

"And why would that be?"

"Because I seem to recall that same someone saying something along the lines about being "crazy, mad in love" with me. Those were the words, I believe."

"Yes. I do believe they may have been. But I also seem to recall it wasn't all one-sided."

"Now who's being presumptuous, Mrs. Bartowski?"

"Well, I'm quite certain that someone did mention that, in his mind, he'd said that he loved me at least a thousand times."

"Pish-tosh."

She raises one eyebrow. "Pish-tosh, Chuck? I see now it was a mistake to introduce you to Jane Austen. The other night it was nuptial chamber and now this. What does pish-tosh even mean?'

"Rubbish or nonsense. As in that number is grossly inaccurate."

"So, you're telling me that, in your mind, you said it much less often than that? How much less, Chuck? Was it a hundred times? Maybe fifty? Ten?" There's a hitch in her voice, "Even once?"

She looks hurt, sounds hurt and there's a solitary tear tracking from each eye (how she can do that so quickly, he has no idea). At one time, a performance like this would have had him tripping over himself to apologize, devastated that he'd hurt her feelings. But not now. It's clear to him that she's just teasing, that she has no real doubt about the depth of his feelings for her.

Even so, he decides she deserves his affirmation. "No, Sarah. You need to go the other direction."

"You mean more than a thousand times?"

"Higher."

"Two thousand?"

"Still higher."

She gives a little gasp. "Could it be as many as three thousand times?"

"Three thousand, two hundred and sixty-three, to be precise. Sorry. Sixty-four. Forgot about this morning before you woke up."

"How can you be so precise?"

"There's this app on my phone that allows me to keep track of each time I think of how much I love you. And it'll even record your pulse rate if you're wearing one of those wristband thingies."

"They're called _fitness_ trackers, Chuck. The 'fitness' part is why you couldn't think of the name."

"Hey! I'm fit."

"Sure you are. When's the last time you worked out with me?"

He just looks at her and smiles.

She blushes. "I meant when was the last time you ran with me? I've asked you every morning since we've been here, but you can't ever get your butt out of the bed."

"This morning, I promise. I just hope your CPR skills are up to date."

"Don't worry. They are. Made sure of that when I was given this assignment. There was a section in your dossier that stated, 'The subject is a lazy clod whose only form of exercise is all-night gaming marathons.'"

"It didn't say that!"

"I paraphrased. I believe the exact term was 'indolent oaf.' Better?"

"Not really."

She shrugs one shoulder. "In any case, I took heed and made sure my CPR qualification was renewed, so if we had to run after the bad guys, or more likely, _from_ them, I could hopefully revive you if you had a heart attack."

She gives him as serious look. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but if an agent lets an asset die in the middle of a mission, you get a black mark on your record. Besides that, there are all sorts of paperwork you have to file."

"Thank you for your concern. It's very touching."

"Pas de problème."

"What?"

"That's French for 'not a problem'. You don't get out much, do you?"

"Why would I need to when everything I want is right here?"

"I seem to recall you using that line before."

"It's not a line when it's the truth."

"OK. I'll give you that one. On a different note, how much longer were you planning to wait before you gave me a morning kiss?"

"Coming right up. After all, that is the one bit of French I _do_ know."

"Why, Mr. Bartowski, whatever do you mean?"

"Let me translate for you."

…

A little while later, she murmurs in his ear, "Chuck?"

"Yes, Sarah?"

"There is no app, is there?"

He pulls back a little in order to look in her eyes. "Nope. Made it up. Although, it would be way cool to make one. You know, if I built it around a picture of you in a bikini, we'd sell a million copies even if it didn't actually do anything. We'd be rich."

"Chuck, do you really want a million pubescent teenage boys staring at a picture of me on their phones?"

"Oh. I see your point."

"Also, there's the whole CIA undercover agent thing. You know, the part where my face is not supposed to be plastered all over the Internet."

"Another good point."

"So, sweetie, now that you've come clean about the app, how did you come up with that number?"

He's a little red-faced. "I'll admit it was a bit of a WAG."

"WAG?"

He leans and whispers in her ear before pulling back again.

"In other words, you have no real idea. You just guessed."

"No. A WAG is more than a guess. It's a best estimate based on experience."

"And what experience might that be?"

"Well, I figure, that on average, I've thought how much I care for you at least twelve times a day. So, since we've known each other for two hundred and seventy days-"

She interrupts him with a sharp intake of breath. "Chuck, you remember exactly how many days it's been?"

"Of course, Sarah. How could I ever forget the day you walked into my life? Once, I even calculated the hours, minutes and seconds. If you give me a minute, I could update those num-"

He doesn't get a minute, not even close to it because she drags him down for a kiss, one which banishes any thought of numbers (and pretty much everything else) from his mind.

A little while later (or a long while, he's not sure) she looks up into his eyes and quietly says, "Thank you. Nobody has ever done anything like that for me." This time, the tears in her eyes are genuine.

He's puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Nobody else has ever thought I was important enough to remember things like that, not the way you remember them. Like I'm first in your mind. Not just an afterthought."

He can't hide his astonishment. "Sarah, how could anyone ever view you as an afterthought?"

She gives him a wobbly little smile, blinking back a few more tears. "That you're actually surprised by that makes me love you even more."

His heart does a little hiccup.

He's tempted to ask who'd thought of her that way, but decides against it, instead choosing to be patient, to wait on her decision to elaborate or not. His patience is rewarded.

After a few seconds of silence, she says, "When I was on the road with my Dad, more often than not, he would completely forget my birthday. And when he did remember, it was always a last minute thing."

She stares off into space, recalling a different time. "One time we were staying in this crappy motel somewhere in Arkansas. He walks back in after leaving me alone for a few hours and says, 'Happy birthday, Darlin', I've got a surprise for you.' "

She pauses for a few seconds and Chuck can tell she's reliving a not too pleasant memory.

"I'd been hinting, really strongly, that I wanted a bicycle for my birthday. Even at nine years old, I knew it wasn't really practical considering the kind of life we were leading. But I really wanted one. When we'd drive through these little towns on our way to the next con, I'd see all these kids on their bikes, smiling, laughing and having a good time with their friends."

When she pauses again, a long one this time, Chuck thinks she mightn't continue. But he bites his tongue, doesn't ask her to go on, just hopes she can sense how much he needs to hear the rest of the story.

After a few more moments she says, very softly, "I thought that if I had that bike, I could maybe be like them. Be happy. Have friends. An actual home. Even just a room I could call my own."

She looks into his eyes. "I thought I could maybe be normal."

This time, it's Chuck's turn to blink back the tears.

She notices. Touching his cheek, she gently asks, "Hey, you OK?"

He clears his throat. "I'm fine. Just got something in my eyes. Maybe some sand from the beach yesterday."

She smiles knowingly. "Yes. That's probably what it is. Do you want me to stop and take care of it?"

"No. I'll be fine. You can keep on going."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

She looks at him for a few more seconds, then continues, "OK. So there I am, expecting him to take me outside and show me my bike. But instead, he whipped out this idiotic princess fairy tale book he'd hidden behind his back. He obviously hadn't given it any thought. Just saw it on a store shelf and grabbed it. It was for someone who was like five or six years old. Then he put a candle in a stupid vanilla cupcake. I hate vanilla. He knew that. Or should have. It just showed me how little of his mind I occupied."

She chuckles, a little ruefully. "I guess I'd hoped that if he couldn't afford to buy me a bike, at least he would've had the decency to go out and steal one." She swipes at the corners of her eyes as she tries to laugh it off.

It's not a very convincing performance.

It breaks his heart when he realizes this incident was clearly just one in a long line of similar unhappy memories. Try as he might, Chuck can't truly imagine what it was like for her to live that kind of life. Even after his parents had disappeared and money was tight, Ellie had always done her very best to make his birthday a special time. The presents may have been modest but they showed how well she knew him, how much thought she put into them.

And it wasn't just birthdays. Chuck always knew he had someone who consistently and unselfishly put his needs above her own. He always had someone looking out for him, wanting the best for him.

But Sarah had never had anyone like that watching her back. No one doing for her what Ellie had done for him. No one to set the example of real kindness, real thoughtfulness, real love.

And yet, she'd turned out to be this unbelievably fantastic woman with a heart so big that she'd even found a way to love a man like him. Looking into her eyes, he finds it almost impossible to fathom how she could turn out to be so extraordinary, so exceptional given all the absolute crap that life has thrown at her.

But then he sees that faraway look in her eyes, the one he's come to recognize that she has when she dwells on the past. When she wonders if she's truly any better than her father or Bryce or any of the others from that string of cruddy examples that had been paraded before her.

He hates that look.

He brings his face close to hers. "Hey, Sarah. Please look at me." She doesn't for a moment, but then does slowly bring her eyes to his.

"Honey, how many days has it been since that night in Vegas?"

She looks surprised by his question. "Why are you asking me? You already know the answer."

"Humor me, please."

She appears puzzled, but after a second or two answers, "Eighty-two from the day I told you I love you. Eighty-one since we got married because you insisted on waiting past midnight."

He nods. "For Morgan's birthday, you found him one of those Graflex camera flash handles, just like the ones they used to make the original Lightsaber. He could hardly contain himself. At Ellie and Devon's engagement party, you got him one of those toy doctor sets and her a naughty nurse's outfit. They both thought they were the greatest presents ever. On the anniversary of the day Casey joined the Marines, you bought him the complete WWII DVD set along with every John Wayne war movie you could find. I think I saw a tear in his eye."

He pauses, before quietly saying, "And then, at the turn of the year, you made preparations to run with me. You were willing to give up the only adult life you've ever known, a life you love, in order to save a man you'd known for a little over three months.

"Sarah, you are not your dad. You're not Bryce. You're not like anyone in your life who's let you down, taken you for granted, ultimately dismissed you and your needs as unimportant."

Her eyes are searching his face, searching for the confirmation of his words.

"What you are is an amazing, marvelous woman who absolutely deserves to be first in my mind. You are worthy of every act of thoughtfulness, every word of praise that I or anyone else can give you."

He pauses, earnestly asks, "Do you believe that?"

She nods, tears spilling from her eyes. "I'm starting to."

"Good. If you're ever again unsure of that, it means that I'm falling down on the job. If that happens, I'll expect a good butt-kicking."

She shakes her head, and after clearing her throat, says, "Chuck, sweetie, I very much doubt I'll ever have to do that."

He smiles. "Just as well. After all, how can I be an 'indolent oaf' if my butt's so bruised that I can't even sit?"

She laughs as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close. "C'mere. I believe I'm ready for another French lesson."

"Pas de problème, Mademoiselle." He smirks. "Do you see what I did there?"

She smiles. "Yes, and it should be Madame. Now shut up and get on with the lesson."

…

He's watching her closely, his face only a few inches from hers. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I was just figuring something out. You know that you're off by twenty-four?"

"What?"

"The number of times in your mind that you said you love me. You said three thousand, two hundred and sixty-four, but when I did the math it only came to three thousand, two hundred and forty."

"So that was you doing math in your head?" He gives her a little of the eyebrow dance. "I'll have you know, it was quite alluring."

She rolls her eyes. "Is there anything I do that you _don't_ find alluring, or what was the other word you used? Beguiling?"

He ponders for a few seconds. "Nope, can't think of anything right now. And as long as you go along with my proposal on the bathroom door thing, I doubt I ever will."

There's a note of patient exasperation in her voice. "Chuck, you do realize that at some point or other we're going to be in the bathroom at the same time? Especially now that we'll be living together. What if I have to go when you're in the shower?"

"I'll just sing loudly, turn my back and pretend it's not happening."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because incredibly beautiful women, such as yourself, never have to do anything so crude. Goddesses never have to use the facilities."

She laughs. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Movies, TV, comic books. You know, the usual sources that so accurately portray the human condition."

Dryly, she replies, "Oh, I see. It must be true then."

"That's what I'm going with."

"Chuck, that's the whole bird of paradise myth all over again."

"What myth?"

"Before they would send the trade skins of the birds of paradise to Europe, the usually removed the feet and wings because they looked better without them. So this myth grew that these beautiful birds somehow soared through the heavens without wings, drinking nectar and never alighting anywhere. They were viewed as angelic creatures, but they were just birds. And they did the things all birds do."

"So you're likening yourself to a beautiful, angelic creature? While certainly true, it isn't like you to blow your own horn. I must say that I'm a little disappointed by your lack of modesty."

Inwardly she smiles at his willful misunderstanding. Externally, she only displays apparent remorse. "Can you forgive me? I guess all your compliments have gone to my head."

"Yes, I will. But it's clear I'll have to be much more cautious in the future. Wouldn't want someone to get full of themselves now, would we?"

"No. Thank you for being so understanding. By the way, do you remember in which room we saw that terrycloth robe, you know the big bulky one?"

"No. I'm not sure. Wait. Why would you want to know?"

"Well, you've been so kind and patient with me that I just want to make sure that I never offend you again by being immodest."

"Hold on. That isn't what I meant-"

"No, Chuck. You've shown me how inconsiderate I was. And to think that I've been parading around here in those little bikinis and flimsy negligee sets. Or even less. It must have been very upsetting for you. But now I see the error of my ways. I'll just go and see if I can find it."

She makes as if she's going to get out of bed, but he takes her hand and pulls her gently back to face him.

Smiling he says, "Twelve extra times on the day we spent at the pier. The other extra dozen, were of course, on that night in Vegas."

"So my math was correct. But the last twelve, were they before or after we got married?"

"Before and during, of course. I didn't _think_ about loving you nearly so often after we got hitched."

"And why not, Mr. Bartowski? Were you already tiring of me?" She tries to sound hurt but knows she's not at all convincing.

"No. Because since then, as long as we haven't been in the range of any microphones and at least thirty feet from another human being, I've been able to say it as often as I wanted.

He pauses and moves in to gently bump her nose with his. "I love you, Sarah Lisa Walker Bartowski. Always have. Always will."

She can feel the tears coming again. "You're such a sap."

"Yes, I am. But I believe I'm _your_ sap."

"Yes, you are. And don't ever forget that, mister."

"No intention of doing so. And by the way, it wouldn't make any difference if it was a bikini or a burka, lingerie or lederhosen, you would still be the most beguiling, the most alluring woman in the whole world."

She raises an eyebrow. "Your mind goes to burkas and lederhosen? Did anyone ever tell you that you're kinda weird?"

"Constantly. And in the past it was often upsetting, but no longer."

"Why?"

He grins. "Because the aforementioned most alluring woman in the world seems to love me despite the fact that I'm weird. Or, if I may be so bold, maybe that's part of the reason she _does_ love me."

She'd never quite thought of it that way, but he's right. Sarah could figure out most men within a few minutes of meeting them, but not Chuck. His little eccentricities, his unusual thought patterns hadn't turned her way. Instead, she'd found his peculiarities strangely intriguing, oddly compelling. Just another part of the Chuck Bartowski charm.

She smiles. "I guess I've got a thing for tall, curly-haired weirdos."

He chuckles. "I'm just glad there aren't too many of us around. Otherwise, I may have a fight on my hands trying to hold on to you."

She gently places her hand on his cheek, then quietly says, "You'll never have to worry about that. I'm quite certain that Charles Irving Bartowski is unique. I know I'll never find another one like him."

She sees her words strike home.

"That pesky sand again, sweetie?"

Wiping his eyes, he replies, "Yeah, must be. I guess it's leftover from when you tackled me on the beach yesterday."

"I seem to recall it was a mutual sort of thing."

"Maybe, but only because you let yourself be tackled. You're much too elusive otherwise."

In other times, with other men, Sarah would have looked for a hidden meaning in those words, perhaps taking it as a comment on her unwillingness to emotionally commit to the few relationships she'd had in the past.

But it's no longer those other times. And he isn't anything like those other men. So all she hears in his comment is his open admiration for the physical agility she'd displayed the previous day.

 **TBC**

 _A/N: Movie reference coming up next chapter. Burt and Deborah. See if you can figure out which one. Thanks for reading and reviewing._


	12. The Beach

_A/N: Just fun! Not anything even remotely close to angst in this chapter._

 _Thanks to michaelfmx for his beta services. If you see any errors, they're mine._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 11-The Beach**

 **Malibu Beach, June 18** **th** **. 2010 Hours.**

They spend the whole afternoon at the beach. Not tied to any sort of clock, the two of them simply while away the afternoon, swimming, relaxing, reading, whatever they feel like.

Towards the end of the day, they start walking, hand in hand, back to the house when the sunset captivates them both. They stand close to each other, her arm about his waist, his arm around her shoulders, silently spellbound by the beauty before them.

"Chuck, I know the whole sunset thing is a bit of a cliché, but that was incredible."

"Yes, it was. And I know it also sounds clichéd, but having someone to share it with makes it that much better."

She silently nods her agreement, thinking about all the times that such beauty had gone unnoticed by her, absorbed as she'd been on a mission or being with someone who thought such simple pleasures were beneath his notice.

Tilting her head to look up into his face, she quietly says, "Chuck."

He turns his face toward her, that beatific little smile of his still evident. "Yes, Sarah?"

"Thank you."

Although he is, on occasion, remarkably oblivious, it's clear that this time he understands what's behind her words. He simply replies, "You're welcome."

The water swirling around their feet suddenly inspires her. Glancing around, she sees there isn't anyone else nearby at the moment.

She asks, "Chuck, you know that beach scene from 'Here To Eternity'?"

He looks a little surprised. "Yes, but how do you know about it? It's a really old movie."

She smiles. "Chuck, everyone knows about that scene. So, I was thinking..." She lets her words taper off as she raises one eyebrow and tilts her head to one side.

His reaction is both startled and immediate. "What? No way! We're outside! And there're people on the beach! Nope, not happening! Are you crazy?!"

She drops her voice, gently coaxes him. "C'mon, Chuck. I'm just talking about a little necking. It's almost dark and there aren't that many people left." Standing on her tiptoes, she whispers into his ear, "You know you wanna."

He gulps and looks around nervously. She can tell his resistance is starting to weaken. Turning back to her, he says, "Well, Deborah Kerr _was_ tall, blond and beautiful. You're tall and blond and beautiful. And that black one piece does look fantastic on you."

She smiles at his compliment, it being at the least the fourth time today he'd mentioned how much he liked her suit.

"And Burt Lancaster was tall, muscular and handsome." She smirks at him. "And you're…tall. So why not give it a try?"

He almost splutters when the meaning of her pause hits him.

"Oh, thanks a lot! Way to make a guy feel-"

She stops his speech by grabbing his head in both her hands and pulling him down for a scorching kiss.

After a few seconds, she drops her hands and stands back a few feet. He, on the other hand, doesn't move at all, just stands there, eyes closed. Upon opening them and seeing her standing a little way off, he huskily comments, "You can't do something like that and then just back away."

"Well, you didn't seem too keen on the whole idea, so now you'll have to show me that you want it."

"How would I do that?"

She grins. "You'll have to catch me."

Sarah has to hand it to him. He's quicker than she thought. No sooner had the words left her mouth when he drops their beach bag and lunges towards her, his long arms outstretched.

With a surprised little squeal (which he later said sounded like a twelve-year-old girl, or did until he recanted upon her twisting his arm) she dodges to her left, avoiding his attempt to grab her. Sure, he's quick, but Sarah Walker has spent a large part of her adult life learning how to evade the grasp of men intent on some purpose, amorous or otherwise, so she's even quicker.

He looks genuinely surprised. "How…how did you do that?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Just fast, I guess."

He nods. "That you are. But sooner or later I will trap you in my arms, woman! Muahahahaha!"

"You OK?"

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"I thought you were choking or something.

"That was my evil villain laugh. Couldn't you tell?"

"No."

He hangs his head. "I guess it needs work."

She's about to agree when he suddenly charges at her again. This time, he almost manages to grab her arm before she ducks down, spinning to her right.

He chuckles. "Damn! I thought you'd be caught off guard by my fake embarrassment."

"Too fast for you, old man!"

"You're right. I'll never be able to catch you. Oh, well. I'll just get our stuff and head back to the house."

He turns his back and starts walking toward the bag he'd dropped earlier.

Sarah's surprised he's giving up so quickly. She'd planned on letting herself be caught the next time but now it looks like there won't be one. Well, if he won't play, there's nothing stopping her from initiating matters.

She leaps after him just as he pivots and takes a step towards her, an I've-gotcha-now look on his face. A look that instantly turns into one of panic at her unexpected and rapid approach. They crash together, arms wrapping around each other instinctively. Chuck valiantly tries to keep them upright, but in the end, the momentum she carried with her is too much and they fall, Chuck on the bottom, both emitting an "Oof!" as they hit the sand.

Anxiously, she asks, "Chuck, are you OK? Did I hurt you?"

He groans. "No, I'm fine. I hear you can lead a long and productive life with a single kidney."

"I'm so sorry. I thought I'd do the honors if you weren't going to tackle me."

"And I was trying to draw you in. Apparently, it worked."

She laughs. "I guess it did."

"You know, you not as light as you look."

She huffs. "Excuse me. You've never complained before. I'll just move-"

Before she can say another word, he moves his hands to her head, pulls her down for an electrifying kiss. And, as chance would have it, it's just at that moment that a particularly large wave washes over them. As she eagerly reciprocates, her hands grabbing his now wet curls, Sarah is convinced she can hear swelling music in the background.

That is, until she hears what sounds like the voice of a seven or eight-year-old girl say, "Mommy, what is that lady doing to that man?"

"Umm, I think she's just performing CPR, honey."

"Does that mean that the poor man has drowned? Maybe we should help her!"

"No, ahem, I think she's got the situation under control. Let's move along, Megan."

Sarah, trying to control her laughter, unsuccessfully, buries her face in his neck. She's positive she can feel the heat from his skin as he blushes.

As the footsteps of the mother and daughter recede, Chuck groans. "See, I told you we would get caught."

"You never actually said that."

"OK. I _implied_ it. Better?"

"Yes. And that little girl will be fine. One day she'll figure out what we were actually doing. Maybe it'll inspire her to try the same thing when she's older."

"If she's smart, she won't. I've got sand everywhere it's possible to have sand. I think there's even some in my ears."

"You big baby. Let me help you clean it off."

They both stand and after first brushing the sand from themselves, do the same for each other's backs.

She pouts a little as he turns to face her. "So, you didn't like the kiss then?"

"I didn't say that. It was…nice."

"Only nice? I guess I must be losing my touch. Obviously, the magic is wearing off if-"

He gently interrupts her. "Sarah?"

"Yes, Chuck?"

"It was, really, _really_ nice. You can be Deborah to my Burt anytime you want. Certainly the best kiss I've ever had while rolling around in the surf."

She looks up into his face and smiles until she realizes what he's just said. Her smile fades and her voice is a little cool as she asks, "Pray tell, Mr. Bartowski. On what other experience are you basing that comparison?"

"Well, there's this woman, an extremely attractive blonde, who keeps popping up in my dreams." He leans back and looks at her appreciatively. "You know, she looks an awful lot like you. In any case, there's this one dream where she and I wind up kissing," he averts his eyes and, even in the fading light, Sarah can tell he's a little embarrassed, "and you know…doing other stuff, while laying on the beach."

"You louse! You dreamed about doing this and then panicked when I suggested it? And I wasn't even thinking about 'doing other stuff', as you so eloquently put it."

"Hey! Gimme a break here. In my dreams, there's nobody else around. It's like we're in the movie Castaway but this time, there's the two of us. Another big difference is that in my dream I have absolutely no desire to get off the island."

"Why not?"

"Because you're with me, of course. What else could I possibly want that's not already there?"

She groans. "Pretty cheesy, mister." She quickly kisses him. "But I like it anyway.

"The truth is that you'd miss your video games."

"No problem. I'd just make one out of coconuts and get my fix that way."

"What? Where did you come up with that ridiculous idea?"

"You know, like the professor on Gilligan's Island. He could make almost anything from a few coconuts, driftwood and jungle vines."

She looks blankly at him. "No idea what you're talking about."

"You're kidding, right? You've never seen Gilligan's Island?"

"Nope. Old TV shows haven't exactly been high on my bucket list."

"But you saw 'From Here To Eternity', and that's even older."

"Chuck, I never actually saw the whole movie, just familiar with the beach scene. Like I said, pretty much everyone knows about that."

"I think we need to rectify that situation. Maybe I can find the movie on VOD when we get back to the house."

"Sweetie, is that really at the top of your priority list right now?"

"It's a good movie, Sarah. It would be fun to..."

His voice tapers off as she moves in closer, wraps her arms around his waist and tilting her head back, gives him her intimate I'm-waiting-for-you-to-catch-up-look.

He gulps. "Oh, I think I see where you're going. Nope. Not that high on the list. Not at all. It definitely can wait."

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. Before we go, though, I need to take a dip. Still have some sand I need to get rid of."

She lets go of him and starts walking into the water. Just as it reaches her knees, she looks over her shoulder, smiles and coyly asks, "You wanna help?"

It's a full five seconds before he can reply, and his feet are already moving before he manages to croak out his, "Yes. I really do."

Preoccupied with each other, neither of them notices as their beach bag floats out to sea.

 **TBC**

 _A/N: For any who'd guessed the movie reference correctly, please give yourself a gold star. The remainder of this story will eventually have something resembling a plot (but lots of Charah as well.)_


	13. Pulchritudinous

_A/N: In which there's Charah and the reappearance of an old acquaintance. You'll have to read on to find out who._

 _Names used are not meant to reflect real people._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 12-** **Pulchritudinous**

 **Malibu Safe House, June 22nd, 1830 Hours.**

After checking his tux one last time in the mirror, he shoots the cuffs, and then walks to the bathroom door. Rapping lightly, he says, "Sarah, the party starts in thirty minutes."

She answers, "Almost ready."

"You know, you didn't have to hide in there. I wouldn't have had a problem watching you get ready."

He can hear her snort, even through the closed door.

"I'll bet you wouldn't have. However, if you had watched, I somehow doubt we would ever get out of here."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all, except this is that 'specified function' we _have_ to attend."

"Yeah, I know. I just wish we could stay in."

"So do I, Chuck." She pauses. "I have a bit of bad news for you."

He's suddenly concerned. "What is it? Are you not feeling well?"

"No. Nothing like that. It's just that I won't be able to wear the red dress after all. There's a seam that's gone. I'm sorry I didn't notice it. Had to use my backup dress."

He's disappointed, but not too much, knowing she'll look great no matter what she wears. Still, he'd been looking forward to the red one.

"OK. Coming out. Back off and give me some room for my entrance."

He grins as he takes a few steps back. "OK, whenever you're ready."

The door opens and she steps into the room.

When he was younger, Ellie had taught him that it's impolite to stare, especially at girls (a real problem after he'd entered puberty). He'd always done his best to heed her advice, but being around Sarah these past months has made that increasingly difficult.

And right now, downright impossible.

He doesn't really have the vocabulary to properly describe her dress. All he knows is that it's black, longish, curvy, and shimmery. It actually _swishes_ as she turns to show it to him. He'd never known such a sound could send chills through him. While backless, the neckline, bracketed by wide shoulder straps, is modest, with just a hint of cleavage.

Chuck finally brings his eyes to her face. Her hair is down in soft curls, its lightness, accentuated by the time they've spent in the sun, is set off by the stark contrast of the dress. He catches the flash of diamond studs in her ears.

And those eyes. Oh, those eyes.

She's beyond stunning. So far beyond that he thinks he's maybe worn that one out, that he really needs to invent a new superlative to describe her.

She smiles. "Sweetie, you might try that blinking thing. You know, before your eyes actually dry out."

He obliges. However, he still can't speak.

With her head tilted charmingly to one side, she asks, "You like this one as much as the red dress?"

He finally manages to gather enough breath. "What red dress?"

She chuckles. "Good answer."

"Sarah, how do you manage to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Surprise me. Overwhelm me. Every time I think you couldn't possibly be more beautiful, that I've seen it all, you go and do something like this."

"I do it because I've become hopelessly addicted to the look."

"What look?"

"Like the one you just gave me."

"But, Sarah, I'm just a guy. Don't lots of guys look at you the way I do?"

She moves in closer. "No, Chuck. They don't." She gestures down her body. "They look only at this. See only this.

"You, as usual, underestimate yourself." She pauses then, sounding a little frustrated, says, "It's hard for me to express it in words. I just hope you can understand what I'm trying to say."

She takes a breath. "Chuck, you look at _me,_ see _me,_ in a way that no other man has ever has."

He just stares, dumbfounded by the depths of her undisguised sincerity.

"And it's not just when I dress up. It's that look you give me when I wake up in the morning. The one you give me just before we go to sleep at night. And the ones you give me all those times in between.

"However, I do see a little something more," she holds up her hand, her thumb and forefinger almost touching, "when I dress up for you. And that makes all the effort worthwhile. There's this little extra tingle that runs down my spine when I see how you react."

She grins at him. "I've grown rather fond of that tingle."

He runs his hand up her arm. "Sarah, honey, are you _sure_ we have to go out?"

She gives him a quick kiss. "Afraid so, sweetie. But assuming there are no complications, we can leave fairly early. We just have to make sure the people observing us are convinced that we're convincing."

"No problem with that. I'll just give you the Bartowski full court press. No woman has ever successfully resisted it. It'll be clear to all that you're crazy about me. Be prepared to have those feet swept, babe."

She deadpans. "Be still, my heart."

"Hey, don't mock what you haven't experienced. The only reason I haven't used it on you before is that I believe everyone deserves to have free will. This move takes that out of the equation. I would hate to see you reduced to such a pitiable state, unable to do anything but accede to my every wish."

Her tone of voice is exceedingly dry. "Thank you for being so considerate. I just hope I can somehow find enough strength to retain at least a shred of dignity."

"I'll make sure to dial it back a notch or two."

"I'd appreciate that." She looks at him for a second or two. "By the way, upon how many _actual_ women have you tried this 'full court press?'"

He grins. "Actual women? None. But it always seemed to work well in my fantasies."

"I think it might be good if we just leave it right there."

"You're sure? I suspect it would be quite an experience."

"Tell you what. If you're good, you can try it on me later tonight. I'll admit I'm a little curious."

"Really? It might be a bit rusty from lack of use, you know, what with the whole woman who's already crazy about me thing."

"I'm willing to chance it." She looks at her watch. "We should get going." She hands him the keys. "You can drive."

This stops him in his tracks. "Excuse me, what did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"You're letting me drive the Porsche?"

She can't help but smile at his expression of wondrous disbelief.

"If I can trust you with my heart, surely I can trust you with my car."

He looks at her for a few long seconds, then teasingly asks, "Now who's being sappy?"

She shrugs. "I held out as long as I could. But being around you is like being caught in a tidal wave of mushiness. Knew I wouldn't be able to keep my head above water forever."

He moves in a little closer. "I could try some mouth to mouth."

Her hand on his chest, she gently pushes him away. "Nice try, buster. We're going to be late as it is."

He glances at his watch. "We still have more than twenty minutes and it's not all that far."

"You forget. I've seen you drive."

"Hey! I'm a very good driver. I've never gotten a ticket."

"That's because you're the only person in LA under eighty years old who obeys the posted speed limit."

"Very funny, Miss-if-I-don't-take-a-corner-on-two-wheels-I-must-be-doing-something-wrong. I'll have you know that I've been practicing my high-speed driving."

This time, it's Sarah's turn to be incredulous. "What?! In the Nerd Herder?"

"No. There's a device that keeps track of how fast we drive. Big Mike doesn't like it if we go over 60."

"So where, then?"

He realizes the corner he's backed himself into, so mumbles, "At the arcade."

Sarah rolls her eyes and laughs. "I should have known. Sweetie. Remember that I told you those games don't give you the real experience."

"Yeah, I know. But they're the closest I can come to the real thing. I was looking forward to the day you'd let me drive, so I prepared as well as I could."

Although she knows there was no intent, his words embarrass her. Here they are, married for almost three months, and up until now, she's never even offered him the opportunity. She's hadn't fully realized how much he's wanted it, prepared for it. Yet, he's never pressured her, never assumed anything. Bryce, on the other hand, had started hounding her about driving the Porsche only two days into their partnership.

She reaches over, touches his cheek. "Chuck, I've been insensitive."

He's clearly puzzled. "What do mean?"

"I should have offered the chance long ago. I wasn't thinking enough about what would make you happy."

He reaches up, takes her hand and kisses it. "Hey, it's not a problem. It's your car and I know how much you love it."

"No, Chuck. It's _our_ car. I had no right to deny it to you."

"Sarah, let me ask you something, OK?"

She nods.

"If I _had_ asked, what would you have said?"

There's no hesitation. "Yes, of course."

"So, you didn't _deny_ the car to me. I never asked. And you know why?"

She shakes her head.

"The first reason I've already mentioned. You do love that car and I would hate to be the one who pranged it."

"Chuck, even if that was to ever happen, I would never hold it against you."

"Sarah, I know you wouldn't, but I would still feel terrible. That's why I was serious about being more skilled. But I also wanted to do a decent job of driving it, wanted to impress you." He gives her a crooked grin before saying, a little sheepishly, "It's a man thing."

"Sweetie, you don't have to worry about that. You impress me every day in lots of different ways."

He raises an eyebrow, takes a step closer. "And what ways might those be, Mrs. Bartowski?"

"Don't try to change the subject, mister. I get the feeling there's at least one more reason you didn't ask."

"You're right. It's a selfish one. If I'm the passenger, I get to watch a breathtakingly hot blonde drive an awesome sports car."

He leans in, whispers in her ear, "That's just one of the many things you do that sends tingles down _my_ spine."

She runs her hand up his arm. "Chuck, sweetie, are you _sure_ we have to go out?"

He laughs, taking her hand and leading her towards the garage.

As he opens the passenger door, he stops and says, "Sarah, I've just realized that I've been a little insensitive as well. I've seen you secretly eyeing my action figure collection for some time now, but it didn't click in with me how much you wanted to handle them. So, just to be clear, they're _ours_ as well. You can touch them anytime you like. I'm sorry I wasn't considerate enough to tell you this sooner."

"At long last, all my dreams have come true," is her droll reply.

…

They stand close, each with a champagne flute in hand, apparently engaged in idle party chit-chat, but in fact closely checking out the other guests.

"Tall balding guy with the woman in the ugly orange dress?"

Without being obvious, he scrutinizes the couple. "No, I don't think so."

"He's been eyeing me for the past few minutes."

He laughs. "Sarah, virtually every man here has been eyeing you from the moment we arrived. Even the old man with the Coke bottle glasses perked up when you walked in. Some are simply more obvious than others. The bald guy is just one of those."

Just then they see the man's partner notice his distracted gaze. After giving Sarah a dirty look, she promptly hauls him off in a flurry of orange to another part of the room.

"See what I mean? You being you will probably lead to a lot of men sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Not my fault if they can't restrain themselves."

"True, but speaking as a man, and with you looking the way you do, it's very, very hard not to stare."

"Like you did earlier?"

"Yes, but that was in private. Fortunately, I've reached the point where I have enough strength to avoid embarrassing myself in public."

She arches an eyebrow. "Oh? Need I remind you of the other day in the swim shop?"

"That was an extenuating circumstance. What did you expect when you chose to model a succession of ever more revealing bathing suits? I believe there's something in the Constitution about cruel and unusual punishment."

"Poor baby. You could have joined me in the dressing room, you know, in order to avoid public shame."

"I might have, except for the fact the other women looking at suits would have noticed. It was already embarrassing enough, having them see how I gaped at you."

She chuckles. "Yes, your shade of red was particularly attractive that day."

"I noticed you didn't buy any of the particularly skimpy ones."

"I never had any intention of doing so. Not my style. Just wanted to see the expression on your face."

"Thus the cruel and unusual part."

She smiles as she takes his arm. "Let's circulate, see if we can actually figure out who's working for Beckman."

"How many do you figure she'd send?"

"Party this size? I'd guess two couples, maybe three."

"Why couples?"

"Blend in better. However, it could be one or more of the servers as well. There's a tendency not to notice them. I've played that role a few times myself."

"Dark haired guy with the blonde in the red dress?"

She looks their way. "Nope. She's sloshed and the guy's thinking of how he can take advantage of the situation."

"OK. Quite the sleaze ball. I very much doubt that worked."

"What?"

"You not being noticed."

"You'd be surprised what badly fitting clothes, poor makeup and ugly glasses can accomplish."

He's doubtful. "Nope. Still think you'd be noticed."

"Tell you what. I bet you I could walk into the Buy More in that kind of disguise and you wouldn't even realize I'm there."

"I bet you a week's wages that I'll always know."

She gives him a toothy grin. "Come on, Chuck. Since when is $87.32 a serious bet?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny. I'd make it a month's wages but I wouldn't want to take your money."

"You're that confident?"

"Yes, and you know why?"

"No, why?"

"Because, Sarah, every time you walk in that door, I know you're there. Even if I don't see you, even if I'm working out back in the cage, I always know. You could disguise yourself as a grey-haired grandmother and I'd still know it's you."

She looks at him with genuine wonder in her expression. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

"But how?"

"Don't really know. A little while after we kissed in front of the 'Bryce Bomb', I was helping a customer with her laptop. I had my head down, running a diagnostic, when I had this feeling, this absolute certainty that you had just walked in the door. I lifted my head up and there you were. Ever since that day I always know when you're near."

He grins. "Unfortunately, as usual, you had come over only because we had a mission, not to see me."

She's pensive for a couple of seconds. "You're wrong, you know."

"About always knowing you're nearby? Nope. Pretty positive about that."

"No, I meant you're wrong about why I would come into the Buy More. If the only reason was to tell you about a mission, I could have just as easily texted or called you, using an agreed upon code phrase. Right?"

"I guess so."

"But instead, I chose to come over personally, then and so many other times. I downplayed it, even to myself, at the time, but I know why now."

When she doesn't say anything for a moment, he prompts, "And that would be…?"

"It was an excuse to see you. To see you smile at me when I came in. To have that short time together walking across the parking lot when there was no one watching, no one listening. We could talk about anything then, not worry about anyone looking over our shoulder."

He smiles. "But you hardly ever said a word."

She's a little sheepish. "I know. My bad. But the thought that we _could_ have talked about anything was something I liked. And even if it just lasted a couple of minutes, I liked being alone with you. It was…liberating."

"So, you were falling for the Bartowski charm even then? I knew my plan would eventually bear fruit."

She grins. "Was that the plan where you would clumsily stumble over your own feet whenever I was near? The one where you'd blush and get tongue-tied when I showed you even the smallest amount of cover PDA? The one where you would stare longingly at me when you thought I didn't notice? Might that be the one?"

He flushes a bit. "Why, yes. That about sums it up." Grinning back at her, he says, "But in my defense, it appears to have worked."

She chuckles. "You're right, it did. Although I confess to being puzzled as to how."

"Perhaps I caught you at a vulnerable moment."

She's suddenly serious. "No, Chuck. Not vulnerable. That would imply you took advantage of me when I was weak. You're not that kind of man. You're nothing like that guy with that woman in the red dress, waiting to pounce when her defenses are down.

"No, you just showed me that there was more. That I could _have_ more. _Be_ more. And even though you were a _little_ pushy from time to time," she grins, "in the end, you let me decide if that's what I wanted."

He smiles as he gently squeezes her hand. "At the risk of sounding presumptuous, you do seem to be happy with your choice."

Bringing her eyes to his, she quietly replies, "Best one I ever made."

They're both silent for a second or two, looking at each other, thinking how such small beginnings had brought them so far.

Before he can lose himself in her eyes, he changes the subject. "If we're ever going to find out who Beckman's spies are, we need to take a different tack. Trying to evaluate all the guys who are gawking at you isn't working. I think we need to look for men who deliberately _aren't_ checking you out. It'll be a much more manageable number."

"I've got an even better idea. How about we look for the women who _are_ checking _you_ out. That should be a _very_ manageable number. Almost a zero sum, I would say."

He chortles. "Wow! You're a regular laugh riot tonight. Where is this coming from?"

She smirks. "Just learning from the master."

He shakes his head. "All this from a woman who once told me she isn't funny. It seems I've created a monster."

This gets her laughing once again. "Chuck, you know I was only kidding about the women. There have actually been quite a few checking you out tonight."

He's clearly surprised. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"No, I didn't think you had. In this area, I appreciate you being oblivious. But just remember that if one of them, for example, that rather scantily clad brunette over by the window, decides to go beyond just looking, you're already spoken for."

"Don't worry about that, babe. I believe I'm giving off a completely smitten with you vibe. Should be obvious to anyone within a radius of a mile or so."

"You'd think so, but some women don't seem to get the message."

"Maybe you could've worn the ring I gave you. Probably would've served to warn most of them off."

Abruptly, she's fiery, snapping out her words, "No. Definitely not. It's much too important to use as a prop. That ring represents something private, intimate between us. No one else is going to see it on my finger until we're able to be open about our marriage. No one."

Sarah's vehemence catches him so much by surprise that all he can do for a second or two is stare at her. And judging by the expression on her face, she too is caught unawares by her sudden and unexpected fervor.

He leans in, his face just inches from a hers and softly says, "Hey, Sarah. You know the ring is very important to me as well, right? I didn't mean to come across as if it wasn't."

She flushes a bit. "Yes. Sorry. Didn't mean to sound like I was angry at you."

He grins. "It's OK. I like that you're so passionate about us. Just another thing to add to my 'Things I Find Captivating About Sarah' list." He pauses. "It's a _very_ long list."

She gives him a wry smile. "So we've moved on from beguiling and alluring?"

"Just working my way through the thesaurus, babe. You know, there are a whole lot of great words I can use to describe you. Didn't realize that an increased vocabulary would be one of the side benefits of falling for you."

"I _have_ noticed an improvement, although it seems to only be in a rather specific area."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet. Just wait until I work 'pulchritudinous' into one of our conversations."

"Doesn't sound particularly nice."

"Yeah, I agree. But it _means_ something nice."

"What's that?"

He gently taps the tip of her nose with his forefinger. "You'll just have to wait. When the time comes, the meaning will be clear."

Just then, the small orchestra at the far end of the room resumes playing, catching their attention.

"It seems they're playing a waltz. Sarah Bartowski, may I have the honor of this dance?"

Hiding her surprise at his offer, she replies, "You may, kind sir."

Sarah loves to dance. But she'd recognized early on that it really wasn't Chuck's thing, especially this more formal, ballroom type of dancing. Nonetheless, he'd always graciously accommodated her when the mission or social occasion demanded it.

During the Von Hayes mission, they'd danced together and, as usual, he'd done his best. But even though he enjoyed himself, she could tell that was a small part of him that felt he was holding her back, taking away some of the enjoyment she derives from the act. Every time he'd gone left when he should have gone right, forward when he should have gone backward, she'd seen the pain in his eyes, even though he'd tried to hide it behind a smile. It wasn't primarily embarrassment, although there was some of that. No, she knew what bothered him most was the belief he was letting her down, disappointing her, at least a little. Despite her repeated reassurances, it was clear that he still felt he was an impediment to her full enjoyment of these occasions.

In her heart, nothing could've been further from the truth.

Just how strongly she felt about this had been reaffirmed by an incident a little later that evening. While Chuck had excused himself to use the facilities, Sarah had surreptitiously kept her eye on Von Hayes partying with his guests. Chuck had only been gone for thirty seconds or so, when she'd been approached by a superficially handsome, impeccably dressed man, maybe ten years her senior. He'd complimented her on her dancing, on her grace and elegance. She'd been formally polite, accepting his commendation and at the same time making sure she flashed the CIA issued wedding ring. Upon seeing it, he'd merely shrugged his shoulders.

Sarah had a great deal of experience with his type, so had been hoping, rather than expecting, that he would stop at that. Sure enough, he'd kept on talking, commiserating with her for having such an obviously inadequate partner. He'd gone on, saying that now that she'd done her disagreeable duty, perhaps she would like to dance with someone worthy of her, someone capable of taking her to levels she'd never experienced.

She had been propositioned more times than it was possible to recall, so this man's brazen innuendo was, to her, simply background noise. But his attack on her husband was an entirely different matter.

Right from that moment when she'd seen the insufferable Harry Tang berating Chuck, Sarah had found she had a zero tolerance level towards any and all who went after him. Often the mission or their cover had prevented her from taking the actions she would've liked at the time. But not that night.

So she'd smiled, a smile he obviously took as one of consent, for he'd come a step closer and taken her hand, ready to lead her to the dance floor. If he'd been just a little more observant, not blinded by arrogance and lust, that smile would have instead had him running for the hills.

But he wasn't. So he didn't.

And he quickly paid the price by being reduced to a whimpering mass, his arm immobilized, intense pain running from his shoulder down to where Sarah had firmly grasped his wrist.

The man wasn't as tall as Chuck, so with her in stiletto heels, there'd been no difficulty bringing her mouth close to his ear. She'd harshly whispered, "I need you to listen carefully to me. Are you doing that?" He'd managed to squeak out an affirmative. "That man that you had the unmitigated gall to call inadequate is the kindest, the _best_ man that I've ever had the privilege to know. The truth is that _I'm_ the inadequate one. That he's willing to be with me is something I'm thankful for each and every day. The fact that he's not a great dancer means absolutely nothing to me. I would be happy to sit and watch paint dry as long as I'm with him. And that would still be a far better time than I could ever possibly have with the likes of you. Do you understand?"

There had been no immediate response so she'd applied a little more pressure on his wrist. He'd finally nodded, choppily, sweat popping out on his brow.

She'd concluded, "Good. Consider yourself fortunate that I have my reasons for not wanting to create a public spectacle. Otherwise, the paramedics would be hauling you off to the ER trying to figure out exactly what had happened to their unconscious patient. Now, run along before I lose my temper and do something I won't regret."

Sarah had released his wrist and the man had hurried away cradling his numbed arm, glancing nervously over his shoulder, likely terrified that she was going to follow him.

She'd never told Chuck about the incident, partially because she was more than a little embarrassed over how she'd dealt with the idiot. But more importantly, she hadn't wanted him to know anything of that man's ugly words, lest he give them even the slightest credence.

Chuck's words bring her back to the present. "Sarah, you looked a little surprised that I asked you to dance, given the fact that I've not always felt comfortable displaying my limited skills." He grins. "However, I've got a surprise for you. I've figured out a way for both of us to be happy."

Encouraged by his high spirits, she smirks at him. "You'll pretend you've got a bum leg and let me dance with somebody like Devon instead?"

He puts his head back and laughs, attracting the attention of nearby partygoers.

"Au contraire, ma chérie." He brings his mouth close to her ear and whispers, "I picked up a few phrases because I've come to know how much you like all things French."

Even as she blushes, she's a little dubious. "What's your surprise, Chuck?"

"This." He takes her right hand in his left, places his right on her lower back and, before she can react, swirls them onto the dance floor, executing a near perfect set of waltz steps.

Her response to his lead is automatic and it takes a full ten seconds before she realizes what's happening.

She can't hide her incredulity. "Chuck! How? When?" She pauses, eyebrows raised as she asks suspiciously, "Who taught you so well?" 

As they continue to gracefully move around the floor, he grins at her. "Well, as to the who, there was this very attractive brunette who seemed to be willing to spend a lot of her time off with me."

She growls, "It better have been Ellie."

He nods, still grinning. "As to when, it was during the two weeks we were supposed to be on the outs. We didn't see each other much during that time and Ellie noticed. I asked her to help me become a better dancer with the hope I'd be able to impress you with my efforts. Quite true, by the way."

"Chuck,-"

He gently cuts her off. "I know, Sarah, I know. _I wanted to._ I like doing whatever I can to make my best girl happy. Even if that meant many hours of practice and sore feet."

She frowns. "Best girl? Doesn't that imply there are others?"

With a cheeky grin, he says, "Why, yes it does. And it's getting a little tiring juggling the three of you, especially now with the whole you and I being married thing. I've been giving some serious thought to dumping them and sticking with just you. I'm assuming you're OK with that?"

"Does that mean you're expecting me to dump the other guy I spend time with? Not sure I'm ready to give up on him yet."

"Seems fair to me. I'm giving up two to your one."

She sighs. "OK. But I'm only agreeing because I don't want you to feel all your hard work has gone to waste."

"Good, glad that's settled. Oh, I should tell you that I've only learned the waltz and the foxtrot, so no tango unless you're prepared to take the lead."

"Thanks for the warning."

"You're welcome. And it's not all just for you. I have my selfish motives as well."

"Oh? And what might those motives be?"

"I've gotten the impression that having a good dance partner can make a woman feel, shall we say, romantically inclined. Is that true?"

"Hmm, let me think about that." She pauses. "Nope. I don't think I feel any different than I did late last night."

"But last night we…Oh!" She looks into his eyes and gives him her little private smile.

He blushes.

"And I felt the same this morning and so on and so on. Are you catchin' my drift here, sweetie?"

"I think so."

"Good, because, while I love that you're doing your best to make me happy, you need to know it isn't really necessary. You could be standing here like a post, and I'd still feel the same way about you. I feel 'romantically inclined' because _you are you_ , Chuck Bartowski. Not because you're dancing so well right now.

"I've danced with hundreds of men, most of whom know how to do the men's part of the tango." She grins. "But, with them, I've never experienced anything even remotely close to the kind of emotions I experienced when I got to watch you drink the last bit of milk out of your cereal bowl this morning."

He nods as he gives her an appraising look. "So milk mustaches and slurping sounds turn you on, do they? Knowing that makes me wonder what you would say if I, oh, I don't know…was to have cereal tomorrow morning?"

Her eyes dance as she brings her mouth to his ear and in a breathy, high-pitched voice, whispers, "Take me! Take me now, you Froot Loops chomping, milk guzzling stud-muffin!"

The disapproving stares their laughter garners from the other dancers prompts them to leave the floor before the dance ends. Stifling their giggles, they drift towards a set of tall French doors that open onto the large garden.

It takes a minute or two before they're able to control themselves. Sarah opens her mouth to thank him for the dance but stops as she feels his body suddenly go rigid.

She recognizes the signs. "Did you just flash?"

He shakes off the aftereffects. "Yes. Across the room. The tall guy who just walked in. Sandy hair. Beard."

She casually shifts her position in order to see what he's seeing. "I've got him."

"Derek Boogard. Arms dealer. Wanted by a whole bunch of people."

She nods, and just then another man enters the room, joins their person of interest. He's rather unremarkable except for a rather scruffy beard, dark in his case. That and the fact that sunglasses incongruously conceal his eyes. They start walking in Chuck and Sarah's direction.

"He's like the guy in the Corey Hart song. 'I wear my sun-'"

Before Chuck can finish his sentence, Sarah quickly pulls him into the shadows.

"Quick, Chuck, kiss me and make sure you keep your body between them and me. Try to obscure my face as much as possible."

He's obviously puzzled but instinctively follows her directions. Gently placing a large hand on each side of her face, he leans in close and quickly brings his lips to hers. She throws her arms around his waist, drawing him as close as possible.

She hears the two men approaching, then a voice with a slight southern accent, "That couple seems to be enjoying themselves." Another voice, this one with a mild middle European accent replies, "Yes, it does seem so. Maybe we could move on and give them their privacy. There are those matters we wanted to discuss."

Sarah feels Chuck begin to pull away, but she tightens her arms to keep him close. A few seconds later, she hears the two walk past them, out into the garden. Their voices gradually recede and she relaxes her hold.

Chuck pulls back a few inches, quietly asks, "That voice sounds so familiar. Was that-"

"Yes." She looks grim.

"Radek Bonk."

 **TBC**

 _A/N: Key the dramatic music. I promised some sort of plot. Hope the next two chapters don't make a liar out of me._

 _If you haven't yet reviewed, I'd like to hear your opinion. Thanks to all who have read and those who have reviewed._


	14. Klonk

_A/N: This is the penultimate (first time I got to use that word) chapter. Kudos to anyone who can figure out (before reading the explanation) where the title of this chapter comes from._

 _Thank as always for the untiring work of my beta michaelfmx._

 _None of the names used are intended to reflect real persons._

 _Don't own Chuck._

 _Enjoy!_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 13-Klonk**

 **Beverley Hills, June 22nd, 2047 Hours.**

"Radek Bonk." Scowling she says, "Or Petr Klima. Whatever."

"What's he doing here? I thought he'd be hiding out in Europe or something."

"I suspect he's looking to invest some of his stolen funds."

He just shakes his head. "How did you recognize him?"

She's terse, her voice flat and hard. "Changed his hair. Grew a beard. Still has the same ears, shape of head. Not going to forget that stuff a second time." She stares, her fierce gaze intently focused in the direction the men had taken.

He gently places his hand on her shoulder, says softly, "Sarah-"

She shrugs it off and, without turning her head, snaps at him, "Not now, Chuck. I need to figure out how I'm going to do this. I'm not letting him get aw-"

Sarah stops, shocked as she realizes what she's just done. She turns to him, and upon seeing the hurt in his eyes, the flash of anger he tries to hide by turning his face away, she flushes, ashamed.

Sarah Walker doesn't plead. Even when she's faced the threat of imminent torture or death, she's never begged, never implored, never allowed herself to be so weak.

Except with this man.

She clutches at his hand, the one she'd so callously shrugged off mere moments before. Raising her other hand, she softly places it on his cheek, gently turning his face toward hers.

Sarah looks up into his eyes and as she speaks, she hears the catch in her voice, "Chuck, sweetie, I'm so, so sorry. There was no excuse for that. Can you please forgive me?"

Chuck knows his wife is a proud woman (quite justifiably so in his opinion, considering all the good she's accomplished), one unaccustomed to errors in judgment, thus not used to apologizing. And yet, here she is, asking, almost begging for his forgiveness, and, as he looks into her eyes, perhaps a little uncertain it'll be offered.

Truth be told, Chuck has always thought it was pretty much a one-way street on the forgiveness thing. He hadn't truly understood until this moment just how important it was for _her_ to have it from _him_. At the same time, it shames him that she should ever have to beg for that, ever have to wonder, even for a moment, if it will be offered.

Yes, her action was unkind. But he also knows _his_ reaction was at least a little excessive, dredging up, as it did, the feelings he'd experienced each time she'd pushed him away, flatly denied there could ever be anything between them.

However, that was then. This is now. She's here now and he needs to put those old feelings away.

His hurt fades as fast as it came, replaced instead by a renewed, almost overwhelming surge of loving appreciation for this incredible woman standing before him, waiting for his reply with hope in her eyes.

He smiles as he takes her in his arms. "Always, Sarah. Always."

She looks into eyes before softly replying, "Thank you."

"You welcome. And, hey, we're a team, right? You don't have to do this on your own anymore. I'm here to help."

"I know, Chuck, I know. I'm still trying to get used to the whole 'We' thing." She gives him a rueful little grin. "I guess old habits die hard."

He nods. "Sarah, honey, we both need to work on that, so try not to sweat it. OK?"

"I'll try."

"Good. And now that we've put that behind us, I want you to know that I'm really, _really_ glad we're on the same side. If I had been the recipient of the look you had on your face a minute ago, well, let's just say it would've been nice to have an extra pair of underwear around."

She looks at him for a second, then gives him an embarrassed little smile. "I guess I was a little intense, wasn't I?"

He holds up his hand and bringing his thumb and forefinger almost together, replies, "Maybe just a smidge."

She chuckles at this.

"Oh, and by the way, I think it should be Klonk."

"What?"

"What we should call our guy. You know, the 'Kl' from Klima and the 'onk' from Bonk. Klonk."

She shakes her head. "Where do you come up with this stuff? Maybe a better question is why?"

"Well, we can't seem to decide whether we should call him Bonk or Klima, and Klima/Bonk doesn't really roll off the tongue now, does it? I think my uni-name works well. Sort of like Bennifer or Brangelina. I thought of Bonklima, but Klonk just seems to fit better."

She just smiles and shakes her head once more.

"Chuck, you're right, there's no need for me to try and do this on my own. Thanks again for reminding me."

"No problem."

"Please keep a look out. I'll call Casey." She opens her purse and takes out her phone.

"Casey. Secure."

"Walker. Secure"

"This better be important. I was just going to sit down and watch 'Sands of Iwo Jima.'"

"Casey, Chuck and I need your help."

"Dammit, Walker. Can't you two stay out of trouble for more than a few days at a stretch?" She hears his sigh. "What is it this time?"

"We found Bonk."

In her mind's eye, she can see him coming to attention. "On my way. What's the address?"

She rattles that off and then adds a list of equipment they'll need.

"I'll be there in about 30 minutes. Try and hold everything until then."

"Oh, and Casey, come either in a tux or dressed as a server."

There's another sigh. "Tux is at the cleaners. Guess it's the server gig again."

"Be prepared. The guy with Bonk is big, probably armed."

"Sounds like fun. See you in thirty."

Sarah turns to Chuck. "Casey's on the way." She glances at her watch. "Should be here by 9:30. In the meantime, we'll need to keep them under constant surveillance."

He nods. "You can't do it. Too much of a chance that Klonk will recognize you."

She lets his code name slide. "Yes, I know. I don't want you to try it by yourself, either. No offense, but you aren't exactly the most covert person."

"None taken. But what does that leave us with?"

"I'm going to recruit the two couples Beckman sent to watch us."

"How? We don't know who they are."

"Oh, I figured that out almost as soon as we walked in."

His expression is priceless. "What?! What was with all that 'let's see who Beckman sent' stuff?"

She smiles. "Just messing with you. Seeing how long it would take for _you_ to figure it out."

He's upset for a second, but then his good humor wins out. "Well played, Mrs. Bartowski. You going to tell me who?"

She inclines her head, almost imperceptibly, towards the bar. "Young blond guy with the attractive redhead. They've followed us from room to room. Did a pretty good job, I'd have to say."

"And?"

"Couple in their early twenties. Dancing. Tall guy with the brunette wearing a dark green dress. Both trying hard not to look our way. Again, doing a decent job."

"How are you going to go about it?"

"First of all, I'll stay here until you go and check where they are right now. Once I know we're clear, I'll make a direct approach."

"I'm off. I'll text you as soon as I find them."

"Nothing stupid, right? Just observe. Carefully. If you have even the faintest idea that they've made you, hightail it back here and we'll take off, let them go. Neither of them is worth putting yourself in danger for. Not even for a single second. You got that?"

He nods. "I do. Nothing stupid."

"You promise me?"

He looks into her eyes, sees them searching his face. "Yes, Sarah. I do."

"OK, then. Gimme a kiss." He leans in, quickly planting a soft one on her lips.

As he walks away, and even in the middle of all this, she can't help but notice how handsome he is. And how the brunette from earlier is also closely watching him as he walks past her. The woman then looks at Sarah, a note of challenge in her expression.

She'll deal with that problem later. Definitely. Later.

A minute passes and her phone chimes with an incoming text.

 _Outside at the far end of the garden. Looks like the two of them will be discussing business for a while. Love you._

She quickly taps out her reply. _Good. Advise if there's a change._ And even though it really isn't the time or place, she doesn't stop herself from adding, _Love you too._

Placing her phone back in her purse, she starts walking towards the bar. The couple she'd pointed out earlier casually move off to one side and pretend they're watching the dancing.

"Gin and tonic, please."

The good-looking bartender nods, and a few moments later, places the drink before her.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome." He rests his arms on the bar, leans in closer and looks at her with what she's certain he believes to be an empathetic expression. Not that it fools her for a second. "Having trouble with the boyfriend? I thought he looked a little ticked. I know it's a bit of a cliché, the whole bartender thing, but if you want someone to talk to, I'm here."

She lets her eyes drift off in the direction Chuck had taken. "No. No trouble. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's planning to propose tonight. I think he just went off to gather up his courage." She sighs. "Although I don't know why he feels he needs to. Of course, I'll say yes. There's no other man I could possibly ever love the way I love him."

The bartender's hopefulness quickly fades. "Oh…OK then. Congratulations." He looks around, seeking a way out. "Excuse me, I need to help the gentleman at the far end of the bar." He hurries off.

Sarah smiles to herself as she picks up her drink, wondering if Beckman's watchers overheard her. Judging by the rapidly concealed expressions of surprise on their faces, she thinks it likely. Well, the surprises are far from over.

Just as she passes by them, she pretends to trip, spilling some of her drink on the pant legs of the young man.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Hopefully, it won't stain. It's just gin and tonic."

He waves it off. "Don't worry. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Sarah nods and quietly says, "I know that you were sent, along with your two friends," she nods toward the dance floor, "to observe me and my partner, but something much more important has come up. Your names please."

The redhead quietly replies, "I'm Agent Lynn. This is Agent Palmerston. What do you need us to do?"

"Did you notice the two bearded men that came by a few minutes ago?"

Palmerston asks, "You mean the tall one and the one wearing sunglasses?"

"Yes. We've identified the taller one as an illegal arms dealer. The other is likely here to invest in his business, using stolen funds. I have backup on the way but until then I need the four of you to run a rotating surveillance on the two of them."

Both agents nod.

"It's critical that I know where both of them are at all times, especially the idiot with the sunglasses. He and I have had some previous encounters. Judging by what happened on those occasions, he'll rabbit if he sees me. I have no intention of letting that happen again. Am I clear on that?"

Again they both nod.

"Code names will be 'Enforcer' for the big guy." After a moment's hesitation, she says, "We'll go with 'Klonk' for the other one. Starts with a K."

To the questioning looks she receives at this, she simply replies, "Don't ask."

Sarah outlines a few procedural matters and they exchange phone numbers. "I'll expect regular text updates. Please brief the other couple. Are you armed?"

Lynn answers, "Yes, Agent Walker. SOP for even a basic surveillance op."

Sarah looks at the redhead closely. "So you know who I am?"

"Yes. I hope I don't sound like I'm sucking up, but we're privileged to be working with you. You're a legend. Your partner, on the other hand, is pretty much a mystery."

"See to it that it remains that way. Understood?"

They both speak at the same time. "Yes, Agent Walker."

There's a hint of a smile as she says, "OK. My mysterious partner, Agent Carmichael, is out in the garden keeping watch for the moment. Please relieve him ASAP."

Agent Palmerston speaks up, "I'll do that while Agent Lynn briefs Agents Smith and Smith."

"Smith and Smith, really?" She remembers the movie Chuck talked her into watching and commenting on how she'd thought the whole plot was ridiculously overblown. It would be impossible to avoid that many bullets. She'd said as much but Chuck had disagreed, saying their own experiences invalidated her argument.

"Yes. They get kidded about that a lot, even though they don't look at all like Jolie and Pitt."

Chuckling, she gestures with her head. "I'll be over there. Let's get to it."

The young man moves off but, before Lynn can do the same, Sarah stops her and quietly asks, "How did we do?"

The redhead looks at her for a few seconds before answering with a straight face, "Very well. My report and those of the other agents will simply state that your act was very convincing. If I didn't know any better I would think the two of you genuinely care for one another."

"Thank you…?"

"Amanda. And before you say it, I know. My parents were both musicians and sadists."

Sarah chuckles, "Thank you, Amanda. You can call me Sarah."

"You welcome, Agent Wal…Sarah. Don't worry, we won't let you down."

With that, she walks away and casually approaches the couple on the dance floor, who by this point, Sarah realizes, must be more than a little curious. She watches as the three of them briefly converse before heading towards the garden entrance.

A few minutes later, Chuck rejoins her, a big grin on his face.

"What's so funny?"

"You, my dear, appear to have a big fan in the person of one Agent Jeff Palmerston."

"What do you mean?"

"We chatted for a few minutes before the rest of our little group wandered into the garden. After introducing himself, our Mr. Palmerston couldn't wait to ask what it was like to work closely with the incredible, amazing Agent Sarah Walker. His words, not mine."

Sarah suddenly finds herself curious about Chuck's response. However, she tries to be nonchalant as she asks, "What did you tell him?"

He holds out his hand and rocks it from side to side. "Meh, it's OK."

Her eyes widen in surprise, rendered, for the moment, speechless. He simply stands there, grinning.

Finally, she manages to splutter, "You, you…you rat. Perhaps I ought to go and find Jeff. It sounds like he might actually appreciate me." She starts to turn away, but before she can, he moves in close and takes her in his arms.

With his face only a few inches from hers, he quietly says, "Sarah, how could I tell him what I really wanted to say? That the days I've spent with you have been the absolute best of my life. That the words incredible and amazing don't even begin to describe the person that you are. That being with you is the greatest gift I could ever be given."

Her throat is suddenly tight and she has to blink hard to hold back the tears. Quite a few seconds pass before she's able to say, "And you called _me_ the sappy one."

"Hey! It's not sappy when-"

"-it's the truth. Gotcha."

He grins as he gives her a quick kiss. "And don't worry. What I actually said is that you are the best agent I've ever worked with. Second to none. That you are the consummate professional."

"How did he respond?"

"I obviously did a great job emphasizing the professional part, because he immediately asked me if you were seeing anyone."

She chuckles. "So, just how _did_ you answer _that_ one, Mr. Bartowski?"

"I told him that your personal life is your own affair. However, I did say that if someone _was_ to earn the love of Sarah Walker, he would be a very fortunate man."

"You're right. I'm pretty hot stuff. That man, whoever he turns out to be, _will_ be very fortunate."

His eyes widen comically as he plays along. "What?! I thought I was-"

"You know, at one time, I thought so too. But in light of that 'Meh, it's OK' comment, I felt that I should reconsider my options."

"It appears I have some serious fences to mend. What can I do to get back in your good books?"

"I'll think of something. Just be prepared to snap to it when I do, mister."

He gives her a mock salute. "Yessir."

Her phone chimes and she quickly pulls it from her purse _._

 _Enforcer and Klonk still in garden. No change in position._

Chuck reads the screen over her shoulder.

He smirks. "So you decided to use my uni-name after all. Told you it was a good one."

She turns her face to his and grins. "Shut up. Just couldn't think of another code name because your stupid one got stuck in my mind."

"And Enforcer?"

"Not sure on that one. Just seemed to fit."

She taps out a message.

 _Advise immediately of any change._

There's an almost instantaneous reply.

 _Roger that._

Looking up, she says, "OK. Everything appears to be under control for the moment. We need to plan how we're going to get these guys. What do you have in mind?"

He notices a couple rising from a small table in a shadowed alcove. "Let's go and sit there." He takes her hand. "First, let me fill you in on Mr. Boogard. I've got some ideas I'd like to bounce off you about how we can get to him."

…

Twenty minutes later they see Casey walk into the room, resplendent in his red vest, white shirt and tie. He's carrying a tray and starts to gather the many drink glasses scattered about on the various surfaces in the room. He works his way to where Chuck and Sarah are sitting.

Seeing the glasses left by the previous occupants, Casey says, "Let me get those for you."

After placing them on the tray, he deposits it on a nearby sideboard. "I'll just wipe down the table."

As he does so, he mutters, "Still out in the garden?"

Sarah had texted a number of times, apprising him of the situation.

"Yes. No change. Enforcer and Klonk are apparently having a pretty serious conversation."

Casey scowls at Chuck. "Klonk? You come up with that dumb code name, Bartowski?"

Chuck simply nods.

"Figures." Casey turns back to Sarah. "How about our watchers?"

She subtly gestures. "Couple by the door. Redhead's name is Lynn. Blond guy with her is Palmerston."

He nods. "The others?"

"Smith and Smith are in the garden."

"You're kidding? Like that dumb movie?" He growls, "Anyone who thought that movie was realistic should have their head examined. Nobody could dodge that many bullets."

Sarah shoots Chuck an "I told you so" look. He just shrugs his shoulders, smirking.

Casey continues, "I'll check in with the two by the door. They know I'm part of the team?"

Sarah nods, "Texted them when you walked in."

"Good. They can point out the Smiths to me. What's the code phrase?"

"You ask if they would like a drink and they'll ask for a tonic and gin. Gordon's. You reply that we only have Beefeater."

He nods. "Got it. I'll check with our 'friends' while I'm out there as well. Size up the tactical situation." He hands Sarah a small case. "Here are your earwigs. I've brought enough for the rest of the crew as you requested. Already got mine in."

"Thanks, Casey. When we're all wired, I'll lay out the plan that Chuck and I came up with."

"OK." Casey then quietly adds, "We'll get him this time, Sarah." He quickly turns, picks up his tray and walks towards the garden door.

Startled, Sarah looks across at Chuck, sees her surprise mirrored on his face.

"Did he just say—"

She nods.

"Has he ever—"

She shakes her head. "No. Not even once."

"Probably just a slip of the tongue. We shouldn't read too much into it…should we?" He sounds a little uncertain.

It's a few seconds before she answers, and when she does, she sounds even more uncertain than Chuck. "No. I suppose not. But…" Her voice trails off, her expression thoughtful.

She gives herself a little shake. "Well figure that out later. First things first." She opens the case, hands one of the devices to Chuck, taking the other for herself. "Remember that after we activate them, Casey and the rest of the team will be able to hear everything we say, so be careful."

"Gotcha." He turns his on and surreptitiously inserts it into his ear. Sarah follows suit.

When she sees Casey re-enter the room a few minutes later, Sarah starts a comm check. Upon receiving a confirmation from all the members of their improvised team, Sarah, under the guise of quietly speaking to Chuck, initiates an ad hoc briefing.

"We need to take Enforcer and Klonk into custody with a minimum amount of fuss and with minimal chance of any gunplay. We don't believe Klonk to be carrying but Enforcer almost certainly is and will likely use it given the opportunity. We cannot let that happen. There would be too much chance of civilian casualties. We're all clear on that?"

She pauses and hears a rapid series of acknowledgments.

"Good. Agent Casey, please update us on the tactical situation."

"Enforcer and Klonk are at the north end of the garden, relatively isolated from the rest of the party. No evidence of a bodyguard. They're sitting on a bench backed by a high garden wall. The area in front of them is clear of any useful cover. No way we're going to sneak up on them, people. When I offered to get them drinks, they declined and there was no evidence that they had been drinking previously. They will be alert."

"Thank you, Agent Casey. Agent Carmichael and I have come up with a plan that we feel will enable us to get close enough without arousing any suspicion on the part of our bad guys. Each of us will have a part to play."

She looks across at Chuck and says, "Agent Carmichael will brief you further."

Sarah sees his surprised look. She nods firmly and mouths, "You can do it."

He sits up straighter, buoyed by her confidence in him. His voice is quiet but still firm as he looks her in the eyes and says, "Thank you, Agent Walker. OK, everyone, listen carefully. Here's what we're going to do."

 **TBC**

 _A/N: What happens in our final chapter? You'll know in a couple of days._


	15. Scary Sarah

_A/N: Here it is, the final chapter. Some characters get their comeuppance. Things are neatly sewn up._

 _Atomic powered robots attack Burbank and Sarah's expecting triplets. (Just kidding! Blame atcDave.)_

 _Thanks again to michaelfmx for his corrections and insightful suggestions. (I dumped over 60,000 words on him in one go!)_

 _Names used are not intended to reflect real persons._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al but it's a lot of fun writing in this world._

 _Please enjoy!_

 **CHUCK VERSUS THE PLAN**

 **Chapter 14-Scary Sarah**

 **Beverley Hills, June 22** **nd** **, 2142 Hours.**

"So, Mr. Nedved, do those terms seem satisfactory to you?"

"Let me make sure I am clear. If I give you two million dollars, you promise to turn that into three million within 90 days? Is that right?"

"Correct. Everybody seems to need guns and explosives nowadays. With all these factions running around, half the time taking each other out or being blown up by various and sundry governments, business is booming, so to speak." He chuckles at his own joke.

The shorter man doesn't appear to get it, so remains serious as he asks, "How do I know I can trust you not to simply take my money and disappear, Mr. Boogard?"

The big man smiles. "Petr. May I call you Petr?" On seeing the nod, he goes on, "First of all, Petr, it's Derek, not Mr. Boogard. As the saying goes, Mr. Boogard was my father."

He pauses for a second and when he continues, nothing remains of the jovial southern gentleman in either his words or expression. "Secondly, I know you thoroughly checked me out before you reached out to my contacts, so you know my reputation. I always deliver on my promises. I've been obliged to have some arduous discussions with a few individuals who had implied otherwise. Eventually, they all came to see the error of their ways. Do I need to have the same kind of discussion with you?"

The other man visibly pales at the barely veiled threat. "No. No, there certainly is no need for that."

"That's good, because the last thing you want is trouble with me, what with the Czech government looking for you."

"What do you mean? Why would they want me?"

"It seems that about three years ago a man named Petr Klima absconded after taking a very large sum of money from a secret location in Prague. He then appears to have completely disappeared. Oddly enough, about that time a person named Radek Bonk showed up on the scene, only to vanish himself some seven months ago. And now we have a certain Petr Nedved, a man with no apparent history, wandering through this cruel world, looking to invest a substantial amount of money in my modest little business.

"You checked me out, so I think it's only fair that I did the same. Wouldn't you agree?"

The man being addressed nods fervently.

"Good. I'm happy that you feel that way. There's a trust that must exist between business partners. I'd hate to think that, sometime after we complete our transaction, you would do something as mercenary as to try and turn me in for the rather large reward that has been offered for my apprehension."

Petr's voice is shaky as he quickly replies, "I would never think of doing something like that. Never."

"I'm glad we're clear on that. So our deal can go ahead as planned?"

"Most certainly. I will be wiring the money to your account first thing in the morning." The relief in his voice is almost palpable.

"Good. Now that we have that out of the way, what's with the whole sunglasses thing? You afraid someone's going to recognize you?"

"Yes."

"I need to know what that's all about. I can't have something suddenly pop up which may endanger me or our plans. So what's going on?"

The man doesn't answer for a moment or two and is quiet when he does. "There's a woman."

"Isn't there always?" He smirks. "Angry ex-wife? Jealous girlfriend?"

"No. Nothing of that sort. It is a woman I met in Prague some years ago. Tall, blond, slender. Very beautiful. There was an incident." He shudders.

"She frightens me. Seven months ago I ran across her again. Here in Los Angeles. I had changed my appearance, so she did not recognize me, but given enough time I knew she would have picked up on something. So I ran, barely managed to escape. Now each time I am out and I see a woman who looks even a bit like her, I panic for a moment, afraid it will be her. I had not planned to be back in this area, so the beard and sunglasses are the best I could do at short notice. Just in case I run into her again."

Boogard laughs. "If you're afraid of tall, blond, attractive women, you really shouldn't be in southern California."

"I only came here because you insisted we meet at this party."

"I have my reasons. And speaking of reasons, do you have any that make you believe this woman is after you? That she might be the law?"

"No. What happened in Prague was of a...personal nature. Nothing over which she would pursue me. And, as I mentioned, she clearly did not know it was me when we ran into each other again."

"So it's just coincidence. You really need to stop worrying. What are the chances you'll ever see this woman again?"

"You are probably right." Petr removes his sunglasses. "I guess I am being a little paranoid."

"Besides, your description of this woman doesn't sound particularly terrifying."

"You have not met her."

"Tell you what. If you happen to see her again, point her out and I'll take care of her for you. How does that sound?"

Petr is thoughtful before he answers, "I am not sure you could."

Boogard laughs as he claps the man soundly on the shoulder, making him wince a little. "You're a funny man, Petr. Very funny. Now that we've taken care of our business, it's time to relax a little. How about we go inside and get ourselves some drinks? There are a lot of attractive non-blondes in there. Maybe we can pry a couple loose."

"Perhaps we could have a drink here before we go inside and try talking to them?"

"Sure. A little liquid courage couldn't hurt.

"Now, where is that waiter who was here a while ago, the big guy?" Looking around Boogard spots him about fifty feet away, clearing the tables on the empty patio. Snapping his fingers and waving, he gets the man's attention, beckons him over.

The waiter looks across, nods to acknowledge the summons, then holds up one finger to indicate he'll be there in a moment.

As Boograd turns back to his associate, he hears someone approaching from the direction of the house. Instinctively his hand goes inside his jacket, but he relaxes when he sees it's a woman, a redhead. A very attractive redhead, walking very quickly, very determinedly in his general direction with a blonde man a few steps behind her, looking like he's doing his best to catch up.

He's obviously less than sober, words slurring a little as he loudly says, "Amanda, stop. Where are you going?"

Without turning, she replies harshly, "Any place that's away from you."

"Aw, what's the matter, honey?"

She turns, stopping five feet in front of the two men seated on the bench. "You're drunk, Jeff. You promised me that you were going to watch yourself tonight." She glares at him. "Just another broken promise in a long line of broken promises."

Engrossed in their argument, neither appears to notice they're not alone.

It seems that Jeff is an angry drunk, his whole demeanor radiating fury as he steps in close, stopping only a foot away from the irate woman. "You shouldn't talk about keeping promises. You said we could make out a little tonight, but each time I even try just a kiss, you push me away like you're not interested. And then I started thinking that's because you only put out for the guys in your office nowadays."

She slaps him, hard. "You bastard!"

Jeff raises his fist. "And you're just a slu-"

His words are abruptly cut off by a large hand gripping the front of his throat.

Boogard brings his face close to Jeff's. "I'd stop right there if I were you, boy."

The younger man makes a choking sound, trying to free himself from the powerful hold.

"That's no way to treat a lady. I'm going to let you go now. When I do, I suggest you drop that fist and apologize. Immediately. Agreed?"

There's a desperate nod and the big man opens his hand. Jeff gasps for air. Just at that moment, the waiter arrives on the scene.

"I'm sorry, sir. Is this young man bothering you?"

"No. Not me. He is, however, being quite rude to this young lady. It appears he has had a little too much to drink."

The waiter takes Jeff firmly by the arm. "Perhaps it might be best if you leave. I'll take you out front and call you a cab."

Turning his back on the two men, Boogard asks the redhead, "Are you alright?"

Before she can answer, another voice comes from behind him.

"She's perfectly fine."

He turns and sees a woman step out of the shadows.

She's tall and blonde, insanely attractive. But there's something in her eyes that gives him pause. Without knowing exactly why, he feels a little shiver pass over him.

"Much better than you're about to be, Mr. Boogard. We felt the damsel in distress distraction would work well with someone like you. It appears we were correct."

Alarm bells go off. He reaches for his pistol, only to stop halfway as he feels the cold muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of his neck.

From behind him, a deep voice rumbles, "I'd stop right there if I were you, boy."

Even though the man is clearly parroting Boogard's own speech of a moment ago, he instinctively knows the speaker is not someone to be trifled with. He raises his hands slowly and, as he does so, feels a hand reach under his jacket and pull his pistol from its holster.

Petr, who'd been rooted to the bench during this whole scene, suddenly blurts out, "Derek! It is her! The woman I told you about."

"Ya think? You led her right to me, you idiot!"

The woman in question speaks up, "If it's any consolation, running into the two of you tonight was pure serendipity."

A tall, curly-haired man steps in beside her. "Aw, you shouldn't have told them that. Now Mr. Klima won't be able to use that awesome quote from Goldfinger."

Boogard sees her shake her head a little and smile. "Which one is that?"

"Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times, it's enemy action."

"That _is_ a good line." She turns to the man sitting on the bench. "What do you think, Petr? Does this constitute enemy action?"

He says nothing, his eyes darting nervously towards the house.

"Don't even think about it. While seeing you run in a tuxedo would amuse my partner to no end, I have given my team clear instructions concerning any such attempt on your part. This includes shooting you in the leg if needed. So, please, just stay where you are. You and I will have a little talk in a minute or two."

She turns back to the arms dealer, who, by this time, has his hands cuffed behind his back. Amanda and Jeff stand nearby, pistols drawn, held down by their thighs.

Looking at the man in the waiter's garb, she asks, "You find anything aside from the Glock 26?"

The big man shakes his head. "Nope. For a guy who has access to pretty much anything, he wasn't packing very much."

She nods approvingly. "Wise choice, Mr. Boogard. A machine pistol so spoils the lines of a well-cut tuxedo. Not that such sartorial matters will be of any further concern to you. After all, selling weapons to domestic terrorists guarantees you a lifetime supply of orange jumpsuits." She looks him up and down. "I don't believe it's your color, but a person can grow accustomed to almost anything given enough time, wouldn't you agree?"

He says nothing in reply, just glares at her.

She stops for a moment, listening. "Our perimeter team has just informed me that they've appropriated a van and are waiting at the back entrance of the garden. Amanda, could you and Jeff please escort Mr. Boogard to the van. If he tries anything, you have my permission to shoot him. You may choose any spot you like as long as it's not fatal."

As they leave, the blonde woman walks over to the bench where Petr still sits. He watches her approach with a morbid fascination, like a rabbit paralyzed with fear at the approach of a predator.

After sitting beside him, she reaches down and slowly raises the hem of her skirt, revealing a sheath holding three throwing knives. Sliding one out, she starts idly tossing it from hand to hand, seemingly lost in thought.

He can't take his eyes off the wicked looking blade, watches it go back and forth.

After what seems like a long while, she stops her juggling and, gripping the knife firmly in her right hand, turns to him and says, "Petr, Petr, Petr. Whatever are we going to do with you? You've been an awful lot of trouble."

The man doesn't dare move a muscle.

"Now, my partners here," she nods towards the two men standing nearby, "have come up with some thoroughly unpleasant and, I must say, very creative suggestions. But I've decided to give you a chance before I do something which can't be undone, at least not without some extensive plastic surgery. Of course, you're used to plastic surgery, aren't you? Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad."

He swallows, his forehead suddenly covered in sweat. "What is it you want from me, Sára?"

She gives him a beaming smile, one, however, that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Petr, you remembered my name from that dinner all those years ago! How delightful! It appears I must have made some sort of lasting impression."

He manages to get out a strangled "Yes". He doesn't go into the _why_.

"So, Petr-" She pauses. "I'm so sorry. I neglected to ask. Do you prefer Petr or Radek? All of these false identities can be so very confusing, can't they? Makes a person wonder if anyone would even notice if he was to suddenly disappear."

He stammers, "Pe-Petr is fine."

She nods. "So, Petr, what I want from you right now is to answer a single question. Truthfully. Can you do that for me?"

He gives her a jerky nod.

She brings her head a little closer, asks, "Do you have any personal knowledge of an organization known as Fulcrum?"

He racks his brain, comes up with nothing, then panics, wondering if he is _supposed_ to know something. Maybe pretending to have such knowledge could give him some leverage. He thinks of saying yes but quickly drops the idea, knowing there's no chance of fooling this woman.

"No, I know nothing of such a group."

She looks at him, long and hard, then directs a quick glance at her partners. Returning her gaze to the man beside her, she sighs. "OK. I believe you. That's it for now. We'll speak again in the near future."

She gestures to the huskier of her two partners. "Petr, this gentleman will now escort you to the van and then to a place where we'll be able to further our acquaintance at a later date. Please don't try anything foolish. My partner hasn't had the chance to shoot anyone for well over a week now, and I'm afraid he may not be able to restrain himself if provoked."

The big man comes closer. "Got any weapons on you?"

"No. I don't believe in violence."

"Well, you might have thought of that before you tried to invest money with an arms dealer. What did you think is done with the guns he sells? Target practice?" The big man shakes his head, and in apparent disgust, mutters, "Idiot," under his breath.

"Still going to search you. Stand up, arms out to the side."

He's patted down quickly. "OK, we're good. Let's take a walk."

…

As Sarah watches, Casey gives Klima a little shove in the direction they need to go. Her eyes follow the two until they round a corner.

Chuck takes the now empty spot next to her. He doesn't say anything, just looks at her with that quiet smile she's grown so fond of.

She's about to speak when she remembers they're still wired. She points to her ear, then says out loud, "Walker and Carmichael are going offline."

She hears Casey's "Roger that." Removing her earwig, she turns it off, gesturing for Chuck to do the same.

Even after he follows suit, he still says nothing, just continues to look at her, his grin getting bigger by the second.

After a few more moments of silence pass, she exclaims, "What?!"

He leans in, gives her a quick kiss. "You, my dear, were absolutely magnificent. I doubt I can find the words to describe just how magnificent you truly are."

She smirks. "Why? Did you forget your thesaurus?"

He laughs so loudly that it echoes around the empty garden. She loves his joyful, unrestrained laugh. Sometimes, even just the thought of it can help her dispel one of her rotten moods.

"Got one on my phone. I'll check it later. But right now I'm too busy burning that whole scene into my mind. I have no intention of _ever_ forgetting what I just saw and heard."

She's puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Sarah, honey, do you have any idea of just how intimidating you can be? You never once raised your voice, you were unfailingly polite, you never used foul language, and yet you totally ruled. Even Boogard was afraid of you and he outweighs you about two to one. And as for Klima, I'm sure the man came close to wetting himself. That bit with the knife was priceless. By the way, you might want to put it away now. I'm planning to take you in my arms in a bit and I don't feel like being accidentally eviscerated."

"Oh! I guess I should." She leans forward, pulls the hem of her skirt halfway up her calf and slides the knife back into its place. She looks up to catch him gaping.

"Chuck. You're staring."

"Sorry, got distracted for a moment. There's just something about the way you do that…" He shakes his head. "Sorry, what were we talking about?"

"Klima. The knife."

"Oh, yes. You should have seen the look on his face. The man was scared stiff."

She blushes. "Chuck, I really don't think I'm that scary."

"Trust me, babe. You are. Remember, I've been on the receiving end of 'Scary Sarah' a few times. When you put your mind to it, you're actually quite terrifying. And you definitely had put your mind to it a few minutes ago. Even though we're on the same side, I still got the chills."

"Really?"

"Really. Even though I knew you had no real intention of slicing and dicing our Mr. Klima, you were so convincing that I had to keep reminding myself it was just an act."

There's something in her expression that makes him pause. "Wait. It _was_ just an act, wasn't it? You wouldn't have actually…"

His voice tapers off as she looks at him, stone-faced. "Chuck, there's no room for half-measures in this fight. We needed to know if he could tell us anything about Fulcrum. It was a close thing, very close."

He stares at her wide-eyed. "But, Sarah, the guy is just a spineless idiot who would tell you everything he knows if you threatened to bend his little finger back, let alone-," he sees the growing smile on her face, "-and you're pulling my leg."

She starts to laugh. "You should see the look on your face! Chuck, sweetie, a man who runs because he thinks he's _actually_ going to be subjected to an impromptu dinnertime neutering obviously isn't too smart or courageous. I would have let Casey rough him up a bit if required, but I was pretty sure all he really needed was a little show."

He lets out a little chuckle, shakes his head and says, "You're even scarier than I thought."

She grins at him. "Try to remember that the next time you're tempted to leave the car."

"OK. I'll try."

He stands, offers her his hand. "I guess we should get going," he says, with just the tiniest sigh. "I assume you'll want to be at Castle to run the interrogations."

She hears the sigh, sees his disappointment as he realizes their weeklong interlude has apparently come to a premature end.

Not if she has anything to do with it.

"No. Not tonight. It'll keep until tomorrow."

He's surprised. "What? Really? I would have thought…"

She gestures for him to sit. "Chuck, they're not going anywhere. Besides, there's something more important that needs our attention."

He groans. "Don't tell me. Beckman needs us for some kind of emergency mission."

"No, sweetie. Nothing of the sort."

His relief is clear but he's still puzzled. "What is it then?"

She smiles. "I seem to recall you saying something about mending fences."

It doesn't sink in for a moment or two, but when it does, his whole face lights up.

"Let me make sure I've got this straight. You're saying that you and me, we're more important right now."

"Yes, Chuck. We are. There'll be a lot of times where the mission will have to take precedence. But tonight is not one of them. There's no harm in letting the two of them stew in a holding cell overnight. Who knows, it might even make them more cooperative."

He looks at her for a few seconds, thoughtful. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you've changed. It wouldn't have been that long ago that we would've already been heading for Castle, with you focused solely on the mission."

"You're right, Chuck. You, being in your life, it's changed me."

"Me? What did I do?"

"Remember the morning after Bonk got away?"

"I do. Very well."

"That was the first day I was really aware of it. Until you came and talked to me, I was fixated on getting him. Nothing was going to distract me. But then you showed me, with just a few kind words," she grins, "and a few forceful ones, just how unreasonable I was being. Right then, I realized I'd changed. I understood that there were things in my life, important things, that I could have and still be a good agent."

"Such as?"

"Genuine friends, a sense of belonging, a place that felt like home. Things I've always wanted but really never thought I'd ever have."

He smiles gently. "There seems to be one glaring omission from your list."

She's a little sheepish. "Yeah, I know. You. Us. I wasn't ready to admit to that quite yet. I thought I could just keep you in the friend category. However, I'll tell you that day at the pier definitely weakened that resolve."

"Is that why you've never brought that day up again?"

She nods. "I'm so sorry that I did that. I fooled myself into thinking that if I never mentioned it again, I could pretend it never happened. That way I wouldn't have to deal with all the issues that day raised."

"So it wasn't just the rules."

She pauses, embarrassed. "No, it wasn't. I told you that, thought I believed it myself, but the truth is that they were simply convenient for me to hide behind. A convenient way for me to deny my feelings for you."

"Aha! So you did have feelings for me. I _thought_ I saw something. It's clear now that I wasn't the only one who stared longingly."

She grins. "OK. You got me. Are you sure you weren't using some secret version of the Bartowski full-court press back then? It would all be a lot easier to accept if I knew that I really had no choice but to fall in love with you."

"Sarah, you are one of the strongest willed people I know. Everything that you do, you do because you choose to. Like you said a while ago, you chose to fall in love with me."

"You know me pretty well, don't you?"

"Trying my best. But there're times when I think I haven't even scratched the surface."

She grins, echoing his earlier words, "Don't sweat it, you're doing far better than anyone else ever did."

"Anyone?" There's a note of disbelief in his voice.

She nods, her reply firm, "Anyone."

He leans closer, gives her a brief kiss. "Thank you. I don't know if I can adequately express how much that means to me."

They remain silent, thoughtful for a few moments. Then he speaks up. "You said earlier that I wasn't usually pushy, although that morning I was, at least a little. Do you really think my actions were all that important?"

She takes his hands in hers, looks into his eyes. "Chuck, don't underestimate yourself. What you did that morning, what we did that day as a result of your actions, set the stage for what happened in Vegas and everything that followed. Even though it didn't seem like it at the time, that day set us on a path that led us here."

Suddenly, Sarah starts to shiver, even though the air is warm. Chuck moves closer, placing his arm around her shoulder. Bringing his face close to hers, he gently asks, "Sarah, honey, what is it?"

She looks down into her lap as she answers, "Chuck, I never told you this. When you chose the pier for our day out, I was so disappointed that I was about to tell you to forget the whole thing. I was just about ready to pack it up and head back to Castle."

She holds up her hand, thumb and forefinger almost touching. "We were that close to never having our day. And if we hadn't had it, we may never have had Vegas. It scares me even now that we might not have ever gone beyond being just friends. That there may have never been an us." She shudders a little bit and he pulls her even closer.

"Sarah, I'm of the opinion that, in the long run, it really wouldn't made all that much of a difference. If it hadn't happened in Vegas, it would've happened somewhere else, in another place or at another time. Even if you'd said no that day, don't you think we would have wound up here regardless?"

Sarah shrugs one shoulder even as she smiles, cheered by his optimism. "I'm just glad we'll never have to answer that question." She leans in this time, kisses him. "Because, sweetie, there's no place on earth I'd rather be than right here, right now with you."

He's seemingly unable to speak, his eyes fixed on hers. Then, just before it appears there may be some tears, he takes a deep breath and smiling, says, "Yeah, I'm pretty fond of here myself, although, right now I have no actual idea where that here might be. Somewhere in California, right?"

Laughing, she asks, "Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you were expecting 'Scary Sarah' to answer you after you told me that I was being too hard on myself?"

"Yeah, I was."

She brings her head closer. "Thank you for being so brave. It was exactly what I needed. You surprised me. I'd never seen that side of you before. I have to ask, where did that come from?"

He flushes. "Casey gave me a little pep talk."

"Casey? That's a surprise. What did he say?"

"Yeah, it was a surprise to me as well." He looks closely at her. "Before I tell you, I need your promise that none of this will get back to him. He didn't actually tell me I wasn't to let on about it, but I'm not sure how he would react if he finds out. I've kind of gotten used to having fully functional limbs. Also, I don't want you to take anything out on him. It would be hard to break in a new partner."

She chuckles. "I promise."

"No fingers crossed or anything?"

She shakes her head, holds up her hands.

"OK. First of all, he told me about a mission you led in Panama a few years ago."

She thinks back, remembers the two missions she had in that country. The corrupt diplomat and-

 _Oh, no. Not that one._

Her hope is somewhat dashed by Chuck's next words. "The mission where you captured that gun runner on your own—"

 _Maybe he didn't tell Chuck what they called me._

"—and they nicknamed you 'la perra rubio loca.'"

There's a growl in her voice. "I'm gonna kill him."

It's Chuck's turn to laugh. "Remember, you promised."

"But-"

"Nope. No buts."

She leans in close, whispers in his ear, "Chuck, sweetie, can't we make an exception, just this once? I could make it up to you later."

It takes a few seconds for him to respond, clearing his throat as he does, "A promise is a promise. Besides, if you go after him he'll know and come after me. I wouldn't be much use to you in a body cast."

"I'd protect you."

"I'm sure you would. But sooner or later you won't be around and then, wham, I'm wrapped in plaster."

She looks contemplative, is silent for a few seconds.

"Sarah, you were just weighing the risks against the benefits, weren't you?"

"Chuck, how could you think—"

He's stern. "Sarah."

She huffs. "OK. I was. A little. But I don't believe Casey would _really_ hurt you. We do need a functioning intersect after all."

Drily, he replies, "As always, I'm touched by your concern for my personal well-being."

"Just part of the job."

"Wow! Can you feel the love?"

She chuckles.

"It doesn't appear you're taking this seriously. For example, what if you're wrong and he decides to…" he leans in and whispers the rest of the sentence in her ear.

"Ouch! I hadn't thought of that."

"I thought not. Because if he did, you know it might be quite a while before we-"

"Definitely wouldn't want that to happen. OK. I'll keep my promise. But why did he even bring up that mission?"

"While he admired your tenacity, he felt that, unlike that gun runner, Bonk wasn't worth your time and effort. But you wouldn't listen to him about it."

"I was a little stubborn, wasn't I?"

He arches an eyebrow. " _A little_?"

"Alright. A lot."

He nods his agreement before continuing, "He then said something that surprised me. He told me that you valued my opinions, my views on matters."

"In what way?"

"That you defended my actions to Beckman, went along with my ideas when you could, that kind of stuff."

He waits as she ponders for a bit. "Huh. I did do that, didn't I? Never really thought of it quite that way."

"And to think, all of this happened long before you realized that you were hopelessly in love with me." He gives her a cheeky grin.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Guess I was already doomed."

"You have an interesting way of phrasing it."

She just grins, doesn't reply.

"Right. Well, because you did, he thought you might listen to me if I could muster up enough courage to face you when you were so angry. He said that I would gain your respect if I was willing to take it on the chin in an effort to help you understand it wasn't your fault, that you needed to give yourself a break."

"He was right. The man's much more insightful than I would have given him credit for."

"I know what you mean. I'd never seen him that way before. Or since, for that matter. Speaking of Casey, shouldn't we tell him we're not joining him tonight?"

"Good idea." She opens her purse, takes her phone out and sends a short text. A few seconds later she receives a reply.

"I just told Casey we'll meet him in Castle at 1200 tomorrow. Want to know his reply?"

He nods and she turns the screen his way. _Roger that. We'll keep our guests comfortable. You two relax._

"Relax? He never says anything like that. What's going on with him?"

She pauses, makes sure she has his attention. "He knows, sweetie."

"What do you mean, 'he knows'? Knows what?"

"Chuck, _he knows_."

As it finally sinks in, his expression of confusion rapidly morphs into one of panic.

"About us? How? He knows about us! What are we going to do? What if he tells Beck-"

She leans over and kisses him, cutting him off in mid-babble.

"Calm down, sweetie. I'm quite certain he's on our side."

He takes a deep breath, calms himself. "How can you be so sure?"

"I kidded you earlier about not recognizing the signs that would indicate who was watching us. Well, it appears I've been pretty blind myself, at least until tonight."

"What gave him away?"

"When he addressed me as Sarah, instead of Walker."

"That _was_ strange, but I don't see how that tipped you off."

"It was out of character for him, so it got me thinking. I suddenly realized that there had been a whole bunch of other times when he'd acted a little unlike himself. Your account of his little pep talk is just another example. The signs were all there for me to read, but I just didn't put them together. "

She smirks. "I put it down to being blinded by love. So, in a sense, it's your fault."

"I'll willingly take the blame for anything that involves you loving me." She's happy to see him smile, glad that at least some of his anxiety has passed.

"Sweetie, I know there's a whole bunch of stuff we'll have to deal with now that he knows. But that's a story for another day. Right now I've got a proposal for you. How about we put it off until tomorrow? This is our last night before we head back to the real world, and I want to enjoy it. Is that OK with you?"

"Absolutely. There will be plenty of time later."

"Good. Chuck, just remember that Casey, first and foremost, is an honorable man. If he hasn't told Beckman yet, there's no reason to assume he's holding back until some opportune time to hold it over us. Also remember he has a vested interest in keeping this team intact. So as long as we keep up the pretense, I believe he'll continue to turn a blind eye."

"Of course, you're right as usual. You know, I believe the man actually likes us. In his own strange way, I think he wants us to be happy."

"I agree. Now, enough about Casey. It's time for you to start mending your fences."

"What would you like me to do?"

"What would be your guess?"

He glances around, then sighs as he stands and starts to remove his tuxedo jacket.

"OK. It's not very private, but if that's what you want."

"Chuck!"

He places his jacket on the bench.

"We'll have to be quiet. Maybe we could go over there behind that tree."

"Chuck, stop!"

He looks down at his feet and then at her. Seemingly uncertain, he asks, "What do you think? Should I take off my shoes?"

She laughs. "You goof. I guess I deserve that for the other night at the beach."

"Yes, you do. And for the knife thing tonight."

"OK. OK. We're even now, right?"

"Right."

"Now, be serious."

He looks down into her eyes for a few seconds. "I believe my beautiful wife would like to dance with her devastatingly charming husband."

"Yes, she would. Very much so."

After putting his jacket back on, he holds out his hand to help her stand, and then, with her arm in his, they walk slowly towards the house. As they reenter the dance area, Sarah notices that the more formal orchestra of earlier is gone. Instead, there's a jazz quartet, accompanied by a brunette vocalist.

Sarah stiffens, a sudden scowl replacing her smile.

He notices, turns to her and asks, "Sarah, what's wrong?"

"The singer. When you left me here to find our bad guys, she was blatantly checking you out. She even looked at me as if there was nothing I could do about it."

He studies her face. "Sarah, you've got that look in your eye."

"What look?"

"The one that tells me that you're about to show her that there _is_ something you can do about it."

"I won't hurt her, Chuck. All I want is to have a little conversation."

"Would that conversation happen to involve the display of one of those sharp pointy objects you have strapped to your calf?"

She tries to look innocent. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I know you, Sarah Bartowski."

She's about to protest, but before she can say a word, he gently takes her arm and steers her through the French doors, back out into the empty garden. He leads her to the patio and then starts rearranging the scattering of tables and chairs.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm finding a way to mend my fences. One that, at the same time, doesn't require me to come up with bail money for my wife."

She smirks. "Oh, you wouldn't have to worry about that. If push comes to shove, I know at least five different ways to make sure that _she'd_ be the one walking out in handcuffs."

He stops for a moment, chair in hand. "Like I said, scary."

He sets it down and surveys his handiwork. "OK. We're good."

"Chuck, what is this?"

He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Our own private dance floor. We can still hear the music but you won't be constantly irritated by having to see our brunette chanteuse ogling me."

"But I'll still be able to hear her."

"I may have that covered as well."

"How?"

"Patience, grasshopper, patience."

He moves in closer, puts his arms around her waist, quietly serious. "But before we trip the light fantastic, there's something I need to tell you. Sarah, I can't control that, for some strange reason, and here, I'm taking your word for it, other women apparently find me attractive. What I _can_ control is my reaction to their interest. I just hope and pray that my conduct never gives you any reason to ever doubt that you are my only, my everything."

Suddenly his face is a little blurry and Sarah has to blink a few times to clear her vision. She gently shakes her head, softly says, "No. No doubts. None."

He gives her a little smile. "Good, because you should know that other women are simply background noise to me. Sarah Lisa Walker Bartowski, I only have eyes for you."

As if on cue, music wafts it's way from the house.

" _My love must be a kind of blind love_

 _I can't see anyone but you,"_

He's startled. "That's weird. It's like you're thinking of a random song and then it's the next one that plays."

She smiles at him, amused, as always, by the little things he finds so intriguing.

"You know, sweetie, there are other things you can do to music besides listening to it and thinking of odd coincidences."

He draws a blank for a second, but then brightens and says, "Of course. Almost forgot for a second why we're out here. May I have the honor of this dance, Mrs. Bartowski?"

"Certainly, Mr. Bartowski."

Chuck draws her close, and as they sway together, cheek-to-cheek, he begins to softly sing along.

" _Are the stars out tonight_

 _I don't know if it's cloudy or bright_

 _I only have eyes for you dear,"_

A sudden tingle runs down her spine. She tilts her head back to look into his face. "Chuck, I never knew you could sing so beautifully!"

He grins. "What can I say? I am a man of many talents. Hang on, here comes the next part. It's unfortunate there aren't any 'sha bops' in this arrangement. I kinda liked them."

She melts into his arms as he brings his mouth close to her ear and croons,

" _The moon may be high_

 _But I can't see a thing in the sky_

 _I only have eyes for you_

 _I don't know if we're in a garden_

 _Or on a crowded avenue_

 _You are here_

 _And so am I_

 _Maybe millions of people go by_

 _But they all disappear from view_

 _And I only have eyes for you"_

He holds the last note for a few seconds and they continue to dance until the music fades. As they stop, he pulls back a bit, sees her eyes glistening.

"You OK?" he gently asks.

Sarah nods as she raises her hands, using her fingers to brush away the tears. "Yes, I'm fine aside from the fact that you keep finding ways to ruin my makeup."

"Maybe you should use the waterproof kind, the stuff synchronized swimmers use."

She chuckles, a little wetly. "If you keep this up, I may have to look into it."

He smiles, looking into her eyes. "Sarah, you don't really need it anyway. You are the most beautiful woman in the world even when you have nothing on."

She tilts her head back, arching one eyebrow. "That's rather saucy of you, Mr. Bartowski."

He blushes. "No. That's not what I-I meant with no makeup on."

She gives him a flat look. "So your saying I'm not when I'm…?"

He almost stammers, "No, no of course not." He sees her grinning at him again and just shakes his head. "You're really good at this."

She laughs as she takes his hand. "C'mon, we're leaving."

As she tugs him along, he asks, "So I've mended my fences, then?"

Sarah glances back over her shoulder, smiles suggestively. "Not quite yet. But I do have something in mind that will clear the books."

"Why, Mrs. Bartowski, whatever do you mean?"

She answers him only by smirking and pulling him along a little more quickly.

When the Porsche is brought around front, Sarah, much to the surprise of the valet, slips into the driver's seat.

"If you don't mind, sweetie, I'll drive this time. That way we'll get home a lot faster."

He nods, his face split by a goofy grin. A grin he never loses in the very short time it takes them to get back to the safe house.

And a grin that returns the next morning, when, upon waking, he discovers there's no further need to convince himself that he is, in fact, married to this woman lying so close, so warm beside him.

His life.

His Sarah.

 **THE END**

 _A/N: There it is! Hope you liked it. If you did, I'd really like you to tell me in a review. Even just a little tiny one. (And if you didn't like it, you can also review to tell me what could be improved.) If you would like me to carry on with my version of these characters in other stories, please let me know. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Until next time._

 _PS Thanks to all you reader who've made Sarah Vs. The Darkness my second most visited story this month. It's one of my favorites. Reviews, even at this late date, will be noticed and responded to._


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